The Ice Beneath

Dawn tipped ice and snow bunches up
Drifts over and across, freezing in place
Like the way dust finds the sexy curves
Of history eventually finding settlement

Beginning to Fly

The sky is cold winter
Wyoming wind wailing
Nestled in the purple
Choking vacuum of forever

Ready to Burst

Inflation rising
Debt market ballooning
Misinformation proliferating
Covid at a fever pitch.

Song O’ The Willamette

Seek ye sounds and hear the collective bugle calls!
O’ osprey n’ lumbering locomotive bawls
Hear its honking trombone plunger muted feature
Garbled warble like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher

Galileo

Like all the famous
astronauts and astronomers
who spent days
peering at the heavens
I’ve stared too long at the stars
orbiting inside your baby blues
to no longer deny that God exists

The Drought of ’22

The body of missing teen found plastered over headlines
Barely mentioned, the lake and its 500 year low waterline

A society that buries itself in fantasy buying virtual land
Will eventually realize that our bodies cannot drink sand

Prosopagnosia

Night and day’s tied faces to the plainly hidden
Double helical wrapped Christmas morning gifts
Opened up like halos when street lamps kick in

The Antihero

I am the undrank cheer
and the spilled champagne
Of the New Year’s promises
that wind up supine, dead

A Love Letter To A Chameleon

Lets revel in this shared Bodhi
Dance forth with wine
And pull the moon
Down over our cheeks

If I Was The Planet Mars

If I was the planet Mars
I’d break free from the Sun’s hold
And escape into the dark cold
Forge a path into the vast black
and never, ever, ever come back

The Yawper and the Mute

Niches determined by force
Like the gravity of breathing
And the sounds you make
when you dream away from me
Our hand clasped curious souls
crawl from their human cages
tucked under cotton bed sheets

The Staggering Marionette

If my poems had lips they would hide in your pout like secret honey
A whispered cache of melody dripping away in a sea of awkward noise

Fear Not

Please don’t tell anyone
But I have this secret
I’ve been meaning to tell
You see I am an angel.
Don’t laugh

Like The Insides Of A Piano

I am the knotted insides of a piano
I sound how my guts are strung up
Once eloquent like the way antelope run
Or how wind sculpts fresh snow into drifts

Born Shy

I live on the wrong glassy frosted frame side
Of a Norman Rockwell doctor visit painting
And the museum security staff roping it off

Honeycomb Pageantry

Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots

My Hands…

Grasped thumbs
Cupped breasts
Rattled shakes
Played with dolls
Bounced balls
Jumped rope
Reached for love
Clung to sun