Monday, February 25, 2008

travel_along

the pounding red club of color
rises the sun in the morning, the
kid breaks his arm in flying off the
swing
the artist cuts open new
canvases with bristles sharp as blades, the
palette a knife, a pill a weekend
the summer squirts from a tube,
lust as juicy fruit- oil,
linseed dribbled
and boiled down to silver constancy
scorches every eye born
to the crackling metaphor, happening
on the visor,
the screen
the hand caresses in to being the
blues are a silent guitar
alive dwindled down to air- there
it
captures the moth
again and lights night in to
marigolds and vicious zinnias
in to the solid wooden
flame
turning earth to smoke
all lives revisited again-
still just a
hollow inset
driven near mad
by the language of it all,
the it though
capsules that night
that purple darkness green and
feeds to the world whole and growing
like greed love the lust of
human receiving.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

valentine_08

love first rises,
in autumn
its eastern sun
blued by longing
she enters
the red door
in glowing portage
bearing
the long boat of
her beauty
a delicate frame to
buoy my
lonesome body-
her smile
extended to touch
each singed part
of me and
slowly
with graceful
healing, chanted
small
songs in to
my cupped
ear- hearing
each note as
it struck my
heart and grew
a proliferation
of seasons, but
these have shortened
in to one
long evening,
where hours have
lost all meaning,
and the final
measure
of me ends at
my joys beginning.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

travel form

love resides some where in the weeds,
some where in the mowed grass
of the interstate,
it forms as a dream behind
the garage in London Ontario
it is the book that has been writing its
self since then
it is my new city, burdened by its Formica
and slate
red brick
and bones, lumping streets-
cobble stone,
the orchards of ghost grow
new
souls daily
the collective moan
blows its low horn
through the rapids, and finds me hat on head
breathing cold wars, and
cereal plants
woven to vapor still expanding in
the spreading mist, the splintered back of
the Niagara rising, to the Eire jet stream
and lowering on to cabbage, corn, and
dark earth grape vine.