53.
scratched by sunset claws
her face dissolves in winter clay
scales drop desiccated lashes
cliffs threadbare, roots exposed to sky
sun-withered, kelp drooping on old logs
no child cartwheels across that expanse
different gulls lean against the wind
on the same trajectory
where my mother’s ashes swept away
i slowly fade in her wake
73.
fearing fecundity
adoring concavity
i transgress nature
i decry the shame of a diamond mine
such a perversion of purity
yet i cannot help
excavating your interior chasms
pawing through soiled sheets
for jewels
marvels of chiseled perfection
your abject honesty
the poem i crave
71.
is it safe for me to tell you
the ground i walk on
the ground you worship
is unstable
cracked and fissured
the cloak of compliments you wrap around my shoulders
slips down
my emaciated hollows
words
a collapsible architecture
except for the bones, fine bones
i am mediocre
one of a dozen
three dozen
a hundred and two
i will never really know the true number
my sins and virtues coincide
on a single day
the day that marks the end and the beginning
until that day
i was special
78.
i’m not afraid of the dark
i don’t have monsters under the bed
but i am awake
longing for the fullness of dreams
to sail me across the trough of the night
dreaded emptiness
the nothingness beyond death
my mother couldn’t comfort me
go to sleep! she said
her voice hard, impatient
wrapped in her soft arms, i obeyed
i didn’t know then it was she i longed to find
mother
an elusive charm but sometimes a nightmare
now you wrap me
in soft words and strong arms
you fill me a boat with dreams
gently pushed from shore
into the rising sun, this time
i yield
100.
we had a picnic on Sauvie Island
in a bird refuge
asti spumante was exotic then
smoked salmon and halvah
you undressed me on a tree limb
i was drunk and exposed
you ate me up like a ripe kiwi
i might have thanked you
but instead i flew away
flushed from the bush
flocks of the same feather
my ancestors migrated freely
99.
you captured me
hair flying on a saltsea breeze
leaning into a sunset
your eyes
blinded by a rush of love
unguarded moments like these
make me want to go back in time
to you
to walk with you in the palmettos
before
we could walk among ourselves
before we ever dreamed of life
before life dreamed us into selves
selvas primeval
47.
you will not age gracefully
(as if power were a disgrace)
you get out of jail free
you pass go
you collect your hides and a full quiver
you stomp your boots
though your fur may be fake
your aim is true
you howl a wild night
no man takes you down
you accept this body as your promised land
moonscape of wrinkles, sags and scars
witch, crone, harpy, Janus-faced tooth mother
you kiss the mirror, your immortal twin
you take your place in a pantheon of pleasure
step aside demigods, let the party begin
97.
silks and spices
desserts topping desserts
mink slippers and martini sunsets
silhouettes sliding through sunbeams
impossibly skinny
impeccably chic
cobblestone tourists
soul searching kisses
the chaste desert beyond and behind
its silent fingers tenderly creeping
inside
retaking its territory
in unsuspecting bowels
the denouement a Victorian defeat
but it was fun
I reach for the last teacup
19.
Fingertip tangos unfurling
scrolls of spun sugar
Word confections
Enticing an already layered dessert
Webs shimmering in a forest of vertical emotions
Flattering expectations
Rather than affectation, disarming affection
Of which I am an unlikely object
The ground springs gently underfoot, inviting trust
Time suspended
In a golden hour when the slant of the sun
promises eternal bliss
Here and there still pools, obsidian obscure
with sudden flashes of fire, like opal
and I want to ask you
What is the shadow of effusion?
155.
a demigod, you define the rules
in the hot tub at Everett house
no shoulders blazoned with adventure
ever sluiced water so delicately
into eddies of velvet seduction
the best is yet to come, you say
we too, could migrate
on wings to wilder waterfalls
places unexplored by my ancestors
who, when open land grew scarce
transgressed their boundaries
beyond mountains, mountains
beyond, they came
not so long ago
to forage these forested slopes
now street names
on the lips of latter day seekers
and idle soakers
156.
bitter honey on the rocks
a fire in my place
Balthus pulls back the curtain
he was fourteen and i was ten
(if only i could stay this age forever)
adrift, on a sea of ice in suburbia
what the hell, Siberia
slipping into virtual passages
virginal commerce, shrouded side doors
a stage, in development
a drama, a dream, perhaps
a Freudian interpretation,
child’s play, a simulacrum, or a (mere)
fantasy?
131.
five hard boiled eggs
(i stopped long ago counting
calories, but i still can’t figure
how to indulge
to loosen the impulse to hold back
to relax the forearm, to extend
to take, to take for granted
to let go
to slide down the escarpment
to call up a confidante
a car
a yellow convertible
a white lie
or a fantasy)
deviled
or is it defiled?