Suddenly Speechless

One weak, the other wild,
quiet and violence struggled
long enough. 

In a dark silence, belonging to
no one, not him or herself
she walked away into frenzy

where creatures without masks
or apologies rushed towards
crash like martyrs or those

who cut and peel surfaces
searching for the mystic,
hidden pearl.

Somewhere in the past,
his cautious, colorblind world,
he wakened to test her

though her eyes were closed,
his heart beating fast in
its tight, wooden box 

suddenly speechless.


If Moths Had Teeth

A dark night has its own voice;
every moth, a small prayer, 
a cathedral of teeth in 
a mouth of flame.  

Quietly, the universe twists 
and hangs each impassioned word
in star-filled rings, releasing them
wing-like, unfurled and springs 

to a place, a spot, a predicted
geography, a uniquely fashioned
particle of being.  Below, a grey
moth clings to summer's last bloom

feathered ears trembling, brown
coat torn and tired.  Finally falling
she recognizes the burning unfulfilled
desire for light was nothing more

than dream and passage.


Sometimes small 
makes restitution
for the brave;  shine 
reflects away
from its body. 

A falling leaf 
overcomes anonymity
by motion, 

however brief

meaning love's
desperate electricity
imprints an image 

of light 

on a dead man's



Unreal Brightness

Who has outlasted you?  Listen.
Footsteps hasten towards
eternity:  a mouth swallowing
pearls as darkness chokes you. 

You couldn't have known
I was sent to forgive you.

These salty, dreamless petals
flowers of hurt were meant
to stun, to poison, to arrest you.

Sometimes God's smallest, 
fragile bones, the wildest, 
most implausible unions
fastened and joined

which is to say:  I know
you watch, have listened,
have woken.  Your body
a doctrine, an old forgotten

story of discarded wings, of
unlocked voices and amnesty
have revealed you.


Connectivity Theory

Arcs of light, shadow, ghost
circles of time floating
invisible, relentless.

The mind, the egg's shell,
the yoke, a potential creature,
a crack spills viscous white


I walked through this day
changed someone else's agony
or joy.  The untouched joining
the unseen,

ripples, dark matter, vibrations
of strings & sound
intentional the moment 

the moment started. 

I hope I am learning
to be part of it.



Of course, I will break you,
this long leather band tied
to your mouth 

I will teach you how
to be mindful perhaps

understand the muscles 
of your body beneath 
the muscles of mine. 

Like a hand cups over
the silver moth, feels
its pounding wings

in the bowl-shaped
darkness, then releasing
it for the frantic rush

towards the clearest light.

Not of This Tribe

When did wild become
undesirable instead of

The ancient prayers
made of sharp blades
and fire deserve
their blessings;

their beaks and claws
broke earth, moved stone,
defined desire.

You with your civility
and power, your diseased
organized, concrete 
towers, your thick

black lungs, grey
celled, anemic hearts
have become


My Name Is

Often, you swore not
to forget.  You lazy bastard
every woman's name 
a force of gravity swirling
into the same black hole. 

How does the single star
with its downcast eyes
resist the pleasure 
of physics

that inherently
destroys it? 



You've stayed awake 
for practice, gathered
strange soil on the souls
of your feet.

Kept your head tilted
back, fixated on ceiling
as it moved above you. 

Everything else

the swirling, beautiful
bodies, their thrashing, 
desperate dances, 

the rise and fall

of their songs, the shine
of their outstretched wings
were only distraction.  

Not yet the journey but
certainly travelling. 


Hidden Nature

We are either supernatural
or incomprehensible.  If I close
my eyes, I am no longer witness;

these things I've seen, I can
no longer condemn you.

See how darkness shields
the sky from its cruel nature

as I press my hand 
across your heart?


Slipping Out

The missing part
waits for us after all
this time:  new growth, uneven
ringlets, the stacking of drying 
wood, still green,

bees & flies each year
strangely look the same;

sometimes I think
it's sad we're still alive,
the rebellious left to struggle
against their chains.

From inside, the soul
picks at the flesh like
a wool sweater chafes
the skin,

wants us to feel 
something that reminds us
the outside world is empty,

the cocoon will rip open
spill its wet, bright wings,
its upraised knees unfurling,

the sound of its hinges