Tag: Enigmata

sentence structure

she is not where she was, nor who. 
this is both grief, and a relief. 
and though in beauty breaks the morn, 
she does, a little, too. 

she's lost, with neither cause nor cost, 
expressions coined and breathing joined: 
in memory of the never-born, 
and sunny days before 

the permafrost

multicolored venom

multicolored venom
pouring everywhere and anywhere;
the quicksand drip that holds you in its snare,
your beads and denim –

psychedelic malice
marble overdrive and underrun:
the mortal day, the everlasting fun,
corona borealis –

sepsis and thalidomide,
darkness on the edge of town,
danger, joy, and habit going down,

but we can say

we tried

An Unopened Thankyou

Piling up the driftwood, I can see
The phases of our lives that were like tides:
That came and went, with regularity,
Till we no longer noticed that they changed.

For faces we once saw have moved beyond,
And voices heeded then – now others’ guides;
It isn’t that we were not true, or fond –
Just how far down the shore we each have ranged.

I turn to thank you, but you are not there.
I write down now, what you will never read:
Like driftwood, piled up, exposed and bare —
I’m cut off, but I’ve no life left
To bleed

united we lie

 we are we were we meant to be
 coerced now into liberty
 we're free to chose and free to lose
 and free to pay our increased dues
 from sea to shining growing sea
 a trending bit of travesty

 we were we weren't we didn't know
 and it was so damn long ago
 united we lie side-by-side:
 greed, sloth, avarice, and pride
 with envy as the star of show
 and each a highly paid all-pro

  this is this was this had to be
  united we lie

  blatantly

cinnamon or taffy

the boardwalk summer:
low tide and high feeling,

a helpful bit of sun
along the way,

and music, like a
soul-possession engine --

a tastes-like-cinnamon-
or-taffy day


a kiss behind the pier:
a running stallion,

a dancing mare
with yellow tangled hair,

a range of wooden slats
for many horses,

a galloping within
the blare and glare


a multicolored night,
a mini-vegas:

a taste, another taste,
a plunging in,

a space for two,
a tentative exploring --

a map of worlds,
that's written on the skin


a cinnamon or taffy taste,
a blending,

a play-it-off amid
the swirling crowd,

a hopeful kind of glance,
a sudden sorrow,

a private look
that's somehow said out loud


a day a night a gain a loss:
a growing

that no one notices,
and everyone --

a summer on
the boardwalk of tomorrow,

a halting start
that stops

but isn't


done

In the fading light of tomorrow…

In the fading light of tomorrow,
Every wish gets weighed with great precision

On the edge of the lonely island,
Where the river fluxes into indecision

And I wander along the cliffside,
Hoping to find a sign to use, or borrow —

But there’s nothing but gold, and rhythm,
In the fading light of what’s left of one

Tomorrow