wholly winter

 

 

 

First the Kshatriya of the brown wind warms your pant-leg, orders the upper caste

as the giggle of stones introduce the aquarium of two springs: winter.

 

It's a chorus now, two otters singing, two frogs singing, one can't hold a note.

Two stages managed by the weight of hardship. I see them both as premonition

 

one betrayed by the character of frost. The other content, just content. He was a

sight trying to hide, changing colors with season, with eosin, with song. Is there

another life to live than this one?

 

It's impossible to explain, getting cold to bears submerged in the sand eating salmon.

I stay up late nights trying to decide a way. undoubtedly, I have forgotten more

 

than I can remember; have remembered far more lies than the names of pets or

the order of street names. Bedtime, take me back.

 

Have you ever wished to catch a dirty rain drop on your tonge and then swallow

like the swallow of Crest kisses? Hold me, hold my hand again.

 

Chicago is called the windy city but what do they call everyplace else? If the

winter wind flattens the drought stained Nebraska corn stalks

 

how should we name the followers of Epicurus? If we die in love will we go to

heaven?  Or stand at the gates, exvoto and jellylike, to the planets sex offering?

 

I wish the winter moon

your eye.

Reviews

[Emily B]

i think, esteemed poet, that it is time to publish your collected works so that i can put them on my shelf, they belong there

[sienikeha]

so lovely. every write is such a vibrant thing.

love: "If the winter wind flattens the drought stained Nebraska corn stalks
how should we name the followers of Epicurus?"

great line : "Bedtime, take me back."