Sunday, November 18, 2018

unknown smoke

I write moonlight when
there’s no moonlight in sight,
speak of the plodding stars
when all above is smoke.
Things aren’t looking too
good for me with the facts.
I claim truth when all I got
is useless, I claim form
when all I do is swing
the idiom. These symbols
before you the sound
your voice makes
in silence. This magic
sounding out the moment,
the meaning there
waiting to be tasted
the way lips imply a kiss,
the story the fire obliges.
at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

unbidden

It is the earth that moves and not the cursor. It is the feet and the fields and not the map. This warm sun, this striped sky, this river of...

  • invocation
    This is how your letter finds me, as beaten and bowed as nature allows. This is how your letter finds me, a little lighter on the metaphor. ...
  • into stone
    The heart is reckless mechanism. The heart is an essential worker. The heart won’t leave well enough alone. Carrying torches and keeping tim...
  • the drop
    Again it is the slow sweep of green against the crawl of cloud and sky, the wind on its hind legs kicking up the dust, this strange drawling...