Monday, April 7, 2014

Tomorrow is All Horizon, So Where Does the Hammock Go?

I saw the sun filtered through
delicate green webbing of veins
ringlet circle whorls golden grain
blue peeking like children
whose giggles were berry 
sweets soon-to-be
hanging just within reach

Taken from the branches
I am teaming with self
tendrils of me rise in curls
it is a meadow resounding
this place with no trees
vast is the plain the veldt
rolling ever outward

Grasses for years
dirt to kick about
I have no to-be
left to climb

An Authentic Piece of Taxidermy Will Have No Seams


Every beat a velcro rip-tearing

mind-soft whispers to myself

this does not matter this

is not spilled blood



Every beat a velcro rip-tearing

mind-soft whispers to the self

this is not breathing this

is sewered closed-eyed

sighs of were-there

Sticky with edges to sink

little barbs of backing up

cannot-will not-could I 

ease stranglehold thick

beneath the collarbone

A series of chemicals sit

flush with red and grey

an orange would be

at once too piercing

and yellow a farce

Feet imprinted gravel

knees know secrets of 

dust of forgotten change

gleaming sickly of moonlight

and no goddesses there

Science be a savior

find organs to be muscle

observe colors to be refraction

bring the sum of numbers

echoing no memories

There the beat to pound again

merely reflex nothing to note

certainly no spurs of bone

born in the mind and no tendon

bound to the sternum of me