anemone

whatever he said, it stuck
a blob of blackberry jam, just like that.
it’s always like that, in the beginning
in the beginning of everything
my brain is flat and wide open, begging
to be etched and stained,
and then
after a period, it folds up small and tight
like a note waiting to be passed. no more room
for words, however clever they may be. but
like I said—at first, he left vermillion splatters and
magenta smears, a cocktail of fantasy distorted
like a red tide of dangerous passion
all across my bleary (but appreciative) senses. and
now although I have passed, like an anemone, into the
epoch of closed tendrils
the interior lights up with a glow of warmth
like a love note
written on the palm of a closed fist

p's and q's

face creased
lips small like a cat’s ass
all for the sake of concentration
all for the art of beatification

send your words up
ask for
love/money/luck/patience to rain down
or don’t ask for anything at all

prayer is the same all over the world
the personal twist is
whether you commonly call up to ask
or to say “thank you”

what is it

whatever have we here
unreliable fullness of smile
i want to rest my head on the heart of
the heart of the world
i want the biggest reality to be
the fullness
of me

finished

August goes blowing by, so much cotton candy in the wind
warm air and hot sweet breath mixing to syrup
leaves drying and adding orange music to black branches reaching up
to the gypsy skies, indigo and ochre

my mind is turning to the tune of the sweeping
of the dust on the sundeck, the past days all glory and no substance
leaving nothing but dry granules and a cocked ear

I’m ready for September to launch

crystal garden

drifts of sweetness

condensed on the window of the garden

wicked to remember what we took from one-another

more wicked to forget