the volume turns up
on global melt
down
the great fog
of death provokes
insomnia
Place
while snow disappears
Corporeal
endurance
slow twitch fibers require
more time to kick-in
the skinny PT encourages
use of vaginal weights
while she stands at her sink
rinses organic lettuce
pulls the string on the spinner
15 minutes into her body
repetitive contractions peak
in a bright red line
on the computer screen
she bends her knees
lifts inside herself
deep central levator
ani up toward core-heart
keeps breathing and talks
her way through death
weans her child
flattens her belly
supports her waning bladder
they take more oxygen
she realizes, as if breath
might be the answer once again
the rami formed in terror
disrupted slow build
reinforced quick-twitch
and she flew in fear, shivered
quaked, held her breath
let go of the power built
in solitary silence
that which lifts us over time
Cyborg Musings
Consumerism
we echo like some awful
remake poorly filtered
cross our arms and look
down on the trendy
grimace of the ten
year old as he confronts
his empty wishing well
full of cell phone fantasy
and late night swims
hidden in the dark
a place our aging
hearts rarely venture
that death place
that earliest fall
Issue
Empty Nesting
it is the echo
of myself I want
to talk to
now out
of the ashes
to tell me
how this story-frond
unfurls
replicated boys
gather over and over
brotherly lovely
grief stilled
in peripheral urns
boxed and bound
banter ricochets
across rooms
or via satellite
everyone ends up
laughing at the same
songs the winning score
when my tall son smiled
near the end of his season
after another 3 points
years of bleachers
hidden sorrows
grave visits mellowed
tell her she knew
how to grow into
this future self
let her in on a secret
the story is easy
follow the path
Corporeal
Creative Re-use
Ahh, the dangers
of a symbolic mind,
so connected to detritus,
so fond of the fading water
stain on a poster-tube
with its blue Par Avion sticker
still intact.
Poetry
Dead Man’s Resume
it’s good paper, I think
as the mauve pile
slips into the printer-slot
his bold font choice
faced away
the list of gigs obsolete
my play is all about the dead
how their voices echo
and I print it out
with a smirk
it’s still too soon to write
his character out of my head
what, with the old vice grips
yet to sell, these resumes to recycle
and the earlier deaths to purge
Poetry
In The End
She sat cross legged
On the lambskin rug
Her grandparents brought
From New Zeland
When she was six
Poetry
Sourcing Voice
for Diane & Roxlyn
billow of breath
circumferential
ease open
close easily
new air spreads its bounty
inside varied body-mind
on the sagittal plane
travel back toward not yet
open cautious
honor walled-off inspiration
what was left behind gathers
into exhale
in the intricate poetics of voice
from hum forward thyroid
to soft eeee arytenoid
breath crosses chasms
find deep cartilage
vibrate bone initiate
authentic sound
out of murmur into silence