Ash
Creature of smolder,
a dream put out. Smoking
into the air. Tickles
the nostrils.
That’s ok. It wouldn’t
have been my dream
anyway. Lost heat.
Years-ago lack of reality.
A pile of ashes fittingly
left as a tribute to
something that used to be,
but (being matter)
hasn’t disappeared yet.
Some Place
For Donna Simons 2017
I’ve been someplace special,
Where the sun speaks to the moon,
While the mountains listen.
I’ve been someplace where my soul dances,
And my heart speaks in its native tongue,
Some place where I come to life.
Some place where my Mother,
Sings with her soul,
And I hear every word.
THE 40 PARADOX
The hazy summer of the new millennium
Finds the four of us
Inching through the daily scramble of the 405
That finally lands us on Wilshire Boulevard
Mother, Father, Daughter, Nephew
We all look for movie stars at the corner Starbucks
Giddy that two are real enough to stop and chat
After compliments on latest movie
And our travel plans shared
Telling looks and “I have to go” smiles
Stage whisper we had lingered
as long as we could
No real relationships are solidified
Warm goodbyes float on the Westwood glitter
And the smoggy rumor of
A Los Angeles sun
Rape
Walk,
Road ahead,
The leering hyenas (rapists) waiting,
To taste a piece of meat (human flesh),
They are thirsty,
Rolling tongues,
I can see.
A nasty stare,
At my body,
I feel so dirty.
Taking a step,
I walk back,
Are they coming for me?
Vintage ghosts of
joy and sadness
a saccharine statement
the highest expression of the autopoetic force
the incarnation and withdrawal of a God
declaration of hither swarms
accretion of the torrential becoming
instances emancipated from
all anxieties and frustrations
in the anagogic phase
made dizzy by the hybris
a regular pulsating
metre of recurrence