February 28, 2011
This genre of lips
Yeses with fingers‹-unblousing, undressing
Skin, her truss. No need
For flight here, except
Air wrapped in irridescent
Feathers. Or, a verb’s splendid long
Bone all lit up for
This new, unbuttoned birdology. Tiny
Chances, coins tossed: a
Firmament above, arousing
Power below. Let
February 28, 2011
The half-eaten pomegranate
is losing its color, turning brown on the plate.
This piece of fruit– of course–is only a metaphor
for the tired heart: the portal to a whole new underworld
full of ghosts dressed in rainbow colors.
I remember the crook of your arm,
an erotic place in which I longed to live forever.
Your skin is the water, I am the boat–
washed clean, finally.
February 27, 2011
I LOVE YOUR BRAIN
Here. Will you take this stone
and make a wish, then give it to the miller.
She’ll make you a page
while I sleep so the robot
can change me. I’ll wish for ice cream.
Surrounded by these columns, each heart-shaped capitol crowned w/ a brain,
I’d like to give you this tiny robot.
Hold it like a river stone,
here, in the palm of your hand, while I light the page.
Here’s to watching the sky change w/ my love, the miller!
“I’ll STAND BY YOU” SANG THE MILLER
waiting in line for a scoop of ice-cream.
She hid a love note on a page
of our notepad for me to find. Her brain
suits my heart like a precious stone
in its circle of rose. I hope she’ll forgive me this robot.
DEAR DA VINCI ROBOT
Thank you for helping the miller,
was blocking our path to the ice-cream
parlor. Origami brain-
I’m so glad you answered our page.
Thank you for being brave enough to use a robot
to remove the endometriosis and organs that pained me, that seized my brain,
my spirit, the heart of the miller.
Now we can argue about ice-cream,
a simple scoop vs. blended w/ toppings on a cold stone.
DEAR DR STONE
Thank you for wondering. I feel as light as a page
descending in air. I feel hope. Eating ice-cream
can bring about joy. I stopped for some on my way to the miller.
It helped ease my brain.
“Ice-cream,” I sang at the cornerstone,
“Brain and Heart–” right here on the front page:
“Robot surgeon grants a wish,” for my love, Jane Miller!
February 26, 2011
WHAT IF I SAID
Stealing glances and trying to
look deep enough
Love speaks in its own
Afraid that I might wake up
and break this dream
I tried drowning myself
but you – you are present all the time
And now I roam with a poem
stuck in my chest
it doesn’t let me breathe
but I can’t pen it down either
Three words that I need to say
and maybe you need to hear
February 25, 2011
If some long unborn friend looks at photos in pity, we say, sure we were happy, but it was not in the wind. – Muriel Rukeyser, Tree of DaysM
we come here
as women, as lovers
back at home
with the miniature
black-and-white prayer strips
goofball poses, kisses
and, my favorites –
the two of us
side by side, head to head
looking plainly out
at this world
without a mirror
February 23, 2011
Shirked and non-plussed,
stalked and apprehended,
I suspended disbelief,
and identified abandon.
We have run
hot and cold
to elegant frequencies of the supermind.
In one fragile second,
of a stupid barbequeue
a crack in my flimsy patria
opens up a
soft, crushing tear
you fit into, with such momentary abandon,
While I wait, for
some witless fury to engage
late silence over fall, over winter,
on an unmanned planet,
populated with my lesser instincts.
Frigid and untapped,
destroyed and then rescued,
I am trying to avoid the garbage
barely contained within these decent homes, these fields and flowers and debris and human waste and denims and ghettos and endless streets without names upon names upon names i am
calling, later, out to you:
Just stay, and stare!
as two different countries come by, playing two different musics
the sudden sounds tear up the streetside silence between us,
by erroneous and irrational response.