Departure Into The Sea Of The Present

I eat
cold
ramen
noodles

from
a red
christmas
bowl

glazed
with
monosodium
glutamate

beside
the
white
keyboard.

Less

the panting
pushing
papal
passing


pause
you took
to push
these words


above,
aloft,
alight,
adrift;


expel
them
from
your

mouth
and
shift
the

teas
the
S
between

your
teeth,
and
rising

from
the
air
beneath

the
wings
that
carry

the
relief

not
lost

Dopamine

Just enough to take us there

-

morning mist
before sunrise

the water's warm



moisture leans like

rocking chairs
and tea in

sweating wide-
mouth jars



sand or
dirt or clay

Pacific or
Lomond or Nile

let's feel our cheeks




in the predawn
delta shore morning

on the banks on
the shore on the

bed where


water is warmer than air.

For Hunter

April 19, 2013

A birthday, first of many, you've just had,

The sun is out, we're laughing in the Spring;

Around the family of both Mom and Dad,

With cake and candle, birthday song did sing;

And even though, today you don't remember,

All the gifts, from friends and loves, you got;

Soon Fall will come, the leaves turn in November,

These birthday wishes, gone but not forgot; 

So as you read this, written by a neighbor, 

Don't think of times of past with youth's dismay;

Just remember friends and family's labor,

They loved you on this very special day;

And you will always be their firstborn Son, 

They laughed and smiled, the day that you turned One. 

Dying To Live

Bitter,
like crushed petunias
made dust by mortar and pestle -
a fine chalk

burn it and make
an even finer paste
then smear that
into the long

streaking suicide
slices on my forearm,
and when the
scars start to scab

when they start to heal,
the color from the
petunias will blaze
bright back again

shining on that
slit and smooth
skin like rain,
like stars, glistening.

Frown-Smile

Back in 2011, today
we had these tabs
that sat ontop of
our web browsers

mine read as follows
facebook
crescent moon
heygirlfriend

www.unchangi...
write space
Diva's departm...
The 50 best fo...

Blogger: The F...

----

6 years later
I found this fickle fragment
of a poem, in the drafts folder

it dangles like a piece
of nightcrawler on
the end of a hook;

where no one is
still there to hold
the reel,

he died long ago,
with some hopeful
and youthful twenty

something waiting,
some music box
ballerina dancing

but now, the music
box is unwound
and an overweight

thirty-one year
old father sneezes
into the cold with

piles of fishing-line
and a broken box
that reads "Twinkle Twinkle."

Lisa and Luther Late-nights on SMOOTH JAZZ

the red light on
the receiver clips
as you laugh into
the microphone

oh and we know we
are on with a few
listeners at home,
waiting to call in

lying on there
beds lusting after
the smooth AM sound
of the late-night morning

and the sound of
a Goddess comes through
those speakers, tasting
the ears through the microphone

making them want for more

Song of MySpace

All are begged to
come listen

gather 'round my
fellow travelers

thespians and lovers
drinkers of wines and

of spirits, come gather
gather 'round

"the fire has only
embers left

the cheese is
but crumbs on plates

the teenage boys
have signed their lives

away, they are ready
and willing and..."

the crows are starting
to circle now

backlit by the moonlight,
they know the fire is

going now, and I've had
you gather 'round to dine

they've had you gather
'round to die.