tri-fold

a form of retrospective, moon-eyed, believing  yet disbelieving at once, at the mercurial, bittersweet  temptations of mind and body and lips, of sugar and spice  and all that fits with my assumption of eternal, orchestral:  the fusion of experience in devotion, of mary magdalene  buried within a crucifix.  this is my daily rote, my vespers, my way of dreaming of freedom  and coffee and fire, of my conscience, of your artful breathing  in tune with the diaspora to forget and unwind  and to soak in all that is pure and right.  ii.  and perhaps there is nothing unusual  in all of this, how the innocent are lead to believe  in the compassion due to roses: the infirm, the infant joy  of eyes opening first, of the sunlit rawness of knowledge.  my thoughts to you are a mosaic, a fresco, an oil painting all thrown together in a frugal, timeless existence.  have me speak when all other lips are sewn into a patchwork  of confusion, the desolation which comes when suffering  is not quite enough to extinguish the urge  to grow outside of oneself.  iii.  there is no end.  the horizon has meaning.  05/12/10

Reviews

[Alicante lullaby]

divine....its simply huge...

[Hedra Helix]

I was thinking the same thing. You need a book dude, I still remember the feeling of terra infirma. Your stuff is so rounded, sane and whole and beautiful. You make me miss the old days here, with a passion.

[Emily B]

oh, my god! your artful whispered words, because I swear I heard your voice as I read -- your art has grown so tall

when are you going to work toward publication? I want you on my bookshelf of favorite poets