Wednesday, July 13, 2016

the attic poetess

the poem entered sharply
knifing around the

then slowly
groaning like a ship
moved up through all the organs
of the body

the letting off of flairs
and degassing of magma
continued all night

until morning bright
a calculus
arrived in the skull
as a cold ball of phlegm

O muse -
this withered body
cannot make love with you
like it used to


the long gush
of appointments
bleed from my diary

i hunt to locate
one free day

and there i am
sitting alone
in a forest
on a seat
of pine needles

snow petals
perambulating down

in a camphor bowl
two gingko seeds
remind me
of extinct

i roll them back and forth
to enjoy
the soft rumbling caress
of wood on wood

three silver eyes
on a limb
their mossy feathers
tick, tick, tick

lowering the bowl
i try not
to move

it is excellent to notice
the moments
of elation

apology of sorts

Tuesday, July 12, 2016


a cat paws
slowly removing
its cape

there is a chance
they will meet again
out of doors

but only
if the cat doesn't let
the velvet lizard



the pine splits and
termites tumble fast from
the fat faultlines

i wish i could fix
the sawdust railings
with my fastigata

but hovering between
devas and devils
like an aquarian
crafty and sublime

i remain subdued
and sing instead
to an ember
in a sodden heart

later in the halflight
i am caught
re-ordering the library

only lies sustain the task
like this book, this boat i launch

a career in the services
would inure me
for the uneven ritual of the sea

taking up my things
a ballpoint pen
tumbles childishly
into the waste basket