9/12/13

Backpack

Why do I always wear a backpack 
When I walk out the door
Is it distraction?
Am I any more than 
word's refraction
And this load no more
Than added weight
No more than back contraction?

One day as now
My backpack squishes me
I bow gratefully
As jelly surrounds my field of vision
Turning sight in to its bare
Intuition

Why does my back pack carry nothing
But butts of parchment
I never intend to read
Smelling sootier indeed
Becoming fags 
As they roll themselves
Into disintegration

This now as a day
My backpack covers me
As best it can 
Upturned I nest
The weight transforms
It bursts in wet
An I am filled by a wait
Under neath a walkside tree

Where is the weight 
That I meant myself remain
Like the witerature
Of impossible grasp
Like the spur
Of beautiful, impossible tasks
I shift On stooping stalks
Of Maybe wealth
Of Maybe pain
Of Maybe a chance 
That this next look 
Might not yield the same 

I wear my shoes and clothes on too
For insides, prides
And cleverancy's slew
Of delegated missives
Buzzing my brain in hive
It's living slain behind 
A throw of weight 
And bad pressure mind

New moon

Her last words were not encouraging
I left with an air of airs
Because that's all that might be left
--Pulled the plug
Missed a step
Ripped the rug--
If she left out from under me
I try to take a tone of light
I told her: I love you very much
But I fooled as If I might
Believe us 
Only in yesterdays

As the boys play chess
As a girls plays with mess
As the old play in their duress
I tell myself
As slight to the touch 
As the moon's own dress
"She'll be there.
Somewhere."

And she was not through with me yet
For at our moon mistress' Sunset
At the peak of crown's glory
Lady lists lowly to me
Whispering slowly through me:
"She'll be there.
Somewhere."

And in subtle mess of story
Pauper plays on the steps 
Of a moon beam
As crisp air sprinkles
And sun rise blinds me
Into sleeps like fairy dreams
Then the birdsong means to me
Coming lower in the void energy:
"She'll be there.
Somewhere."
But I don't know
And I never will

9/11/13

Swordblazer

Join my communion
Under the retroscope
Of our spiritwalks
And empty talks
Of nothing at all

As of sprite:
my swordblazer
Broke the pulse 
Of my insular artery
Sun striking in swishblast play
Thrown out 
As an echo that never returns

While we took breath
Of leather palms
And smiling alms
And empty talks 
Of everything at all

9/9/13

Wooden worries

Try tossing them to me
See, I've fine hands for holding
Burnt, broken hands for holding
Delicate woven oak branches
Here sanded to the rough hue
Of sandy lead so that you
Could have moment to bed the
Serenity or serendipity 
Or whatever you called it
I'm no good with those names
I seem to be the only one to forget they exist
I have the hands gnarled enough to be roots
Even though I carved them to fly

9/8/13

An attempt at making 'good' art

Shuffle the dancers
Float on the waters
Grow through the cancers
Fly past the trotters
I still won't be much closer

9/4/13

Isn't it

If'n the radio chides you
On repeat
Don't reap it
If'n the light behind you
Burns wheezing
Just breathe it
If'n the chords alloy aligned