ARCHITECTURES DECAY


Thus, age bleeds away youth and turns dentures into lace.

The taut drum of your skin becomes a worn stocking,

untoned, crumpled, and thin. Winter freeze bruises fruit,

your garden becomes waste, and those grim burlap bags

that hang from those pegs were once blimps that flew flags

all were pleased to salute. Monuments get defaced.





sAVAnnA



AblAze WiTh hUnger/disCOVerY

,epiderM AnTs rUn eleCTriC AgAinsT This plAin:

ThrOUgh YOUr CUrlY grAsses These sOfT YellOw liOns

prObe           And Under The ripe VUlTUres in The briAr Trees

MY YOUng ChiMps rOMp UpOn gOlden MOUnds --



O The Wind gloWs WiTh dUsT       & dArK MYsTerY



And O The MOOn hOWls

            AbOVe

                    Us And YOUr riVer sWAllOWs mY AArdVArK.




MY TURN TO COME


Every foot fits your shoe,

your glove can hold any hand.

You share love everywhere.

I wait for my turn to dance.



ATOLL



Poets before me (how many) have extolled

:melons full melons ripe

:those raspberries (pink&wrinkled) delicate atop your double-dip vanilla sundae

:your slice of peach : your wedge of pie : your pyramid of hot cobbler,

tartsweet juices oozing like fresh tar on the newlylaid I- in August Texas....



but none has ever praised

:the gold and graceful arc of the taut banana – O huntsman's bow before release --

:the strong sweeping scimitar  of a Southern Cross bole, bent fullsail,

fruitful coconuts proud unfurled, or :the sweetwhitesticky elixer within.



no one has ever

noted for eternity

the coy Thanksgiving yam.





THE STORIES THAT KEEP ME SAVED


From ocean to bush

to mountain to sea

Beelzebub and Zeus

are chasing after me.

One promises fire,

and one, lightning bolts.

They want my surrender,

they want me to convert

my riches to embers

that will die in the dirt.

I love the burning bush

that walked upon the sea,


Adam’s figs and apples,

Eve’s frankincense and myrrh,

Baptist’s tabernacle,

Delilah’s virgin birth.


Ark of Harold Angels

sinks in the lotus pond

while the lamb and Daniel

wait in the lion’s den.


Grafitti at the feast

that read, “Thigh Kingdom Come.”

Magis from the east,

their whore from Babylon,

the ones who suffered

when the Pharaoh Joseph

devoured the golden calf

during the last supper

ahead of Jonah’s flood.

Peter and his bishops,

when the wine turned to blood,

stole the leaves and fishes.


Allah-lujah Rama Christos Amen Om