Coffee by Turtle – A Poem

Cool water pools in shallow depressions.

The park is vacant but for
a single woman
wearing a pink scarf. She carries many black bags
and an umbrella.

She has a dilapidated walk.

The street lights shine pale under an overcast dawn.

Turtle brought me a coffee and a smile and asked
about my weekend. There are voices all around which are
much too loud for the transactions
taking place.

Several buildings loom above the park. Dark shadows of
steel, glass and cinder. Silent
titans that struggle
over the downcast omnipotence
of a green, slumbering apparition of nature.

Turtle’s translucent reflection puts on a coat, hat
and gloves. “Coming?”

A phone rings nearby and is quickly answered. Looking
away from the window I find everything locked
in a fluorescent haze. I feel constrained by
this disguise of timelessness
and struggle to answer.

The coffee smells nice though, but it has by
now gone cold.



Beauty Exposed – A Poem

Care closed a hand about a ring
a hand moon burned
a hand adrift in an adjoined love.

Hear them
here now
the waves with the cinders
crackle and the slow walk of the hills beside.

In a soliloquy tomb
a bouquet
a banquet
a beauty exposed.

Verse spoken in a tangerine scented wind
guarded vengeful
as harrowing as rose petals and wine.

Valley rise in the morning
to a morning of decaying fog
where mist
and flesh
litter road and field.

The delightful gait of a child sun.

Reed and Willow – A Poem

All that falls
is a light snow
a fear
an intimacy

your blood pink ear
pale warm neck
black tresses

trois couleurs

all blurred

Our south facing room
sun warmed
a rush of breath

So what was the reason?

It’s complicated.

It’s okay to be defensive.

I don’t seek absolution.

No. You always wanted more.

The seasonal wind shakes
the windows as
orange whispers shudder through the glass

You laugh

arching your back you
push yourself against me

Reed and willow
nourish in the soil of a soft freeze

The long morning fools us
shelter under the twisted blankets

it is not enough.

As the Toast Arrives – A Poem

A blossom
and a mourning
under branches stretching dark
across a white sky.

And then the running
with waves frantic thrashing ceaseless
over crystalline stone
and you in a rosemary malaise.

It may be a matter of time. It may be a matter
of intent.

There is a bitter taste to my drink.

There is a bitterness to the dance
of the masked gods.

A jest.

A violence which surges in
abandon to the melody
sung by a whispering ghost.

I am a part of that violence
and think back over our history and find it suitable.
We could never find comfort in
You agree
as the toast arrives.

Leaves shift color from green to brown
and collapse at our feet.
A fog settles over the ocean.


Apples Under Gold – A Poem

There was something of a genius
about him
a hard wall eclipse
a spring I could not recollect.

Jaded and stoned he buys bouquets
equips an abbey
fermented berry flavors swirl
fragrant the cool air.

Militias draw the lines
but I never
count on them.

Let’s drink along the unmasking
collect the parlor man
a morose fool.

How he could outpace
a windstorm with single notes afloat
a steel string guitar
fruitfully sad.

You’re apples under gold
all bright and serious
and straying.

A bitter sun closes the day.