Three Short Poems

"Jones"

Jones
finds Empty
and fills it
with lonesome lies
in a fake truth suit.
There were better Parts Unknown meant for you.
_____

"Chop Shop"

Chop
this shit
into lines-
it still won't be
poetry, baby.
You have to pay to learn that foreign tongue.
_____

"Mercy Clouds"

Look--
water
ripple-topped.
Gone tomorrow
with the mercy clouds.
Kiss me now. The sun will warm my suitcase.
______

for Fussy Little Forms--tetractys. 

Suicide happens when a person's emotional pain exceeds their ability to cope with that pain. But there is help. If you are in trouble, pick up that ten ton phone--tomorrow can be better, even if you don't believe it right now. National Suicide Prevention Help Line: 1-800-273-TALK.

"Goodbye...my friend. I didn't know you, but I've been places you've been." (Tim Hardin)

 

Crimson Amperage

In my fingers, a knife with two blades and no handle.
On the blades, blood.
Enter my relative, with ten mouths
who wears the knife as jewelry.

In my mouth, a scream with two pitches and no end.
On the sound, a honed edge.
"Hush," say the ten mouths
but I sing back crimson amperage.
_______

some cold steel 55 for my BFF.

yulimajiri

A ceramic cup

--winter-white--

is my body--my bones are

stems of brushes--

my blood is paintwater.

The window is nine panes.

The walls are blank, the door to the hall ajar.

Outside,

wintry mix.

Traffic, graylight, finger-wind.

Rain falls of its own weight--

snow's geometry fragile as dreams.

When they kiss, one disappears--

the dull shine of sidewalks

leads everywhere, nowhere.

A ceramic cup

--winter white--

is my body.

I touch yours (again) in the stems of brushes,

soft tips brilliant and singular

then done, swirled

in the cup's anonymity.

_______

for Toni's "Shades Of Rain" at Toads.

Jose Feliciano's amazing rendition of a Fred Neil song about rain:

 

 

 

 

The City Of Concrete Birds

In the city of concrete birds,

shoulders lately blessed by a lover's face

--an egg on her tongue, feathers in corona around her eyes--

bear risk as heavy as Sisyphus' tears.

In Paris, the paradise of concrete birds,

tablets are struck from the hands of poets in cafes.

Hats must be sturdy,

utility workers must brim in stadiums,

never resting.

Every morning, I leave you without leaving.

I wear a dress of twigs and string,

perpetuating the world;

my bones double helixed

 from Billie Holiday records and plaster,

I am a nest for concrete birds.

We must be careful, as we promenade.

The Luftwaffe are old leaves blowing,

but when we think of each other,

what to say,

how much to lie,

which tender sensibilities to spare,

Waiters in doorways open their lips to birth air raid sirens.

The concrete birds select our skulls,

without pity or malice

 landing in our destruction like swans in summer,

at home there,

symbols of love lifted by our obliteration.

_______

for Kerry's "Camera FLASH!"

 

Origami Angel

A local origami angel, 
aged out of foster care,
kept a treble clef  in a wicker cage
perched on a wing and a prayer.

I kept dying and coming back 
all that winter, every time we kissed.
In spring the treble clef infected us with sense,
took back its hour and scorned such pious ornithologists.
_______

a 55 for my BFF.

From Bone To Lace Edge

Don't let your wings drag in the sand.

There's only so much white from bone to lace edge.

If you need to, borrow from the clouds.

Fill yourself with rain.

Remember that lightning on sand makes glass.

Walk on the sky when you get the chance.

Don't let your wings drag in the sand,

no matter gravity always trying to work you.

Feathers fill in one at a time--

there's all day or there isn't.

Earth turning will create its own breeze.

The sky is in motion, sure of its place from any angle.

Everything is ready, ongoing, self-defined.

You should be, too. 

_____

A bit of impromptu nothing for Sunday Muse #6

 

______

 

Remember

Remember the Alamo.

Remember the Maine.

Remember yourself, in my dream last night,

tilting your head the way that's done

when the next word is "no."

In our bed, Santa Anna's Mexican army.

At the breakfast table, saboteurs asking for the Tabasco.  

Sunken steel and mud missions know

how it was and

how I remember you.

______ 

a 55 for my BFF.