Uttered

I had seen in part and that year
    after the snow had fallen,
then melted;
when in
        the dead of night,
        the draught like golden
opened,
                            I awoke and
                                    knew in full,
 the fragrance riding in with force
                                                                   against all aureate
designs.
My resignation came much later,
 stretching in shades,
 as my
sight improved.
 To
      test the

theory,

I offered you a drink.
You indulged and
       returned to self.
In falsetto trill, you willed me gone,
climbed walls like vine, reveling in the
        sugared relish of hovering demise.
You left
                                                    me no choice.
Stories, incomprehensible, tainted vows,
and I
fell into a summer bliss.  I felt
         the revelation first, viewed
         the molting of your words,
 the nothing left, slithering
between the bloom.
The end
                      of secret
                                 things.

Write at the Merge

Longevity

I come to you, bearing tears.
            Take what I
can give - an elegy, gem of genius.  Drink my flame. The waves.
                                 Because when the thunderstorm
  approaches, not a sound is heard here.  The pounding silenced,
we're protected.  I will stay until it slips away.  Above the beams, the
                                limits of all you think you can endure, find me succulent as ever
                                      there was green.  Lean up against my boundaries, budding,
                                                 and wait for the returning point.  Moments, sublime,
                                                                                                                     steam

steady

in rhyme.  Movement twinkles, their rythm, heroic
and the
          eye minds.  Cleaving to the
prophet's words, I understand.  I stand.  Rise, too.
           The sun flies off rooftop now, off blank page,
 shines back
down,
stealing patience from what she's learned of us.
In falling, unrepining heat, we gaze up with gratitude.
                                       This conversation becomes our discipline, pieces of
which, later pierce, dissect the
whole, and I swell beyond, pluck fear like grass, clutch
                                                                              tight
and then release.

The Sunday Whirl

xeric

There was
             something disparate of design in that journey.  The desire hung like holly at Christmas, calling.  I hunkered
                                              down till the
counterfeit heat
       tempted growth but it was never right.
                            Honestly, didn't we try?  And the water, falser, there, less
                                   satiating somehow.

Deprived of bare air, tears held and you hunted,
                                           keen.  How
is
it, I

lessened here?  I dressed warmly for you,  hinted a glow and
                                           asked, finally for
                                                                    return.

Fluxus

I.
Sleep's the only cure for this,
 but
           then again,
this is
when the inspiration
                  sometimes flows. Then every thought
                           is versed, and I'm teaching courses in my
                                                   mind;
 telling how I
suppose song
was
where I learned it first - in reformatted copy-writing.  I
                               stick it out and know when
                                  it ends.  I trudge
                                                 through weeks, it seems, weeds of words, till the
path clears, and I can run.
Patient with
    the repetition, gold with habit.  Nihil ex nihilo.

II.
I return to flow as often as light flies to night.
I banter with right,
        then give up fight, because the
weave of words broods, dripping, before the pour.
                                        I am clutching the gush of usage for lack of better.
                                                                                                            Best
                                                                                                                  to express with elements, the trivial,
            the

revery, the vital yielding fluvius,
            the beast, forever
                                     ravishing in
woods of apperception. Too gentle, and there's a danger
   of duty calling, inciting, iterum, so
                    I outwork all possibilities, let the
                                                              efflorescence, yellow, sacred, lest inspiration bolts,
                                                                    or worse-
I groom the list of helps, begin
     once more and center.  Dealt in waves, I dance with what
                                                    I have.  The healing
canters by, I catch her course. I return to flow.

Three Word Wednesday
                                                                                             

Layers of Whole

Maybe you tried
                  to make your way to me,
 but
                  the road was slanted.

Maybe I was haunted,
 the sky
                  striped in grey warning,
scenery, shaming.
                                                                           Maybe, I'm Remorse you can't
                                                                                                                      restore.
                                                                                                                      Record says,
                                                                                                                                  straight twisted
like a strudel.  Who am I to vie or even wonder
                       when
you're changing daily?
It was a nice performance,
but you
           can't deny,
I'm empty now, abandoned, unsteady as Abele but filling out fast.  Do
                        you recognize me, overgrown, scored in shadows?  With
                                                                                                                               the
slight
switch and the twitch in my gait?  The
  whole convoluted scheme, male by design, a low,
        long song
sounding war,
 but I'm cat-like sly,
purring, plotting,
calculating miles, while you mime care -
face painted
blank as white.
              What did you think?  You could
                                                       camp outside my door till you were
                                                                                                          ready?
Well, I'm in
            my prime - it's time for you to worry it
                               through.
 It flows
                                                  flying and hard now, so come in
                                                                              where it's warm, there's
                                                                                                 a footpath
                                                                                                   for you to follow, or steal away at
night, revenge the prize and
     highest price you'll pay.
Man is the reason and woman the rhyme and you
                                   wormed in and I roamed out.  If you could see me now,
                                                in my purple overcoat, bangles of bracelets, fitting in where
                                                 I didn't want
                                                          to -
it would be good for your head.  I can't make out your difference but your signature
                                                                                                                  scrawl gave away and
slandered how I handle
 my name.  Hung on your handwriting, who's gonna cave?  Soon, I'm
moving, the clouds absorbing sense and the air
       is bland.  We're at the wrap up now.  I am swollen, weighty, and departing.  Find me with your flame.

The Mag
Poetry Jam

Hay Sol

In a corner of my mind, in a
       corner of my life, the spotlight
                                         shines
 on squares of Spanish tile
where we
danced-
or should have.  I drew a picture of it once
 in the beginning
                                                                            but left
out morning
when I should not have.
 The result was a morbid sort of numbed
                                                                       beauty, charcoal dusty, making you believe I wasn't caught.
 I'd have cleaned that
floor, on hands and knees, a little housewife.  I''d have watched that damn movie a million
                                                                                                              more times for that.  The
blue long climb of the tub and the
                               heat of time wiping out days, the sparkle of the
backyard water and the laughter granted.  Breakfast cooking
               when
               we woke
                  (eggs like eyes,
                       saying, rise and shine and your bloody marys, the color of the mulberry pops on our
walks)

and nothing much to do.
       One year my flight delayed and seems the
next year, my life delayed, but even though I missed it then,
                        I know it now.

The Music In It
Carry On Tuesday
                                         

Downfall

Yeah, it's like that, Baby

Our initials carved inside a heart.

For a good time call-

me

Scrawl my name in colors and in loops - big and curved,
                                                                                  declaring.

You heard I was the one.

I'm a train, whizzing past, fast
      and bright
 with wrecked
        notions.

Song lyrics, catchy -
validating

Put
profundity where it doesn't belong -
                  where I can see it -
 say it short and sweet.

....
has a small...

soul.

I'm a building, tall and old and you're
              defacing value.
You're a break I shouldn't take
           and what's that in my pocket?  I'll
                                                             lock it up
                                                                     in lace,
send with love.

It's late - I shouldn't be here.

You've got my number.

dverse