Friday, August 22, 2014

Strange Brew

Somebody is dreaming you
and/or you’re dreaming someone.
How else remotely to account
for all the strangeness of this brew? –

thoughts that do not come from you;
yearnings you’ve no place for? –
the odd proclivities you now
somehow have found a taste for?


Thursday, August 21, 2014

Sink It

Is everything we do foregone?
Can we instigate the dawn
of something new? It doesn’t
matter, really, probably: we’ll
do the things we do; waffle

‘round the way we’re waffling
‘round right now -- and let
the quiet wow of slow-diffusing
hues imbue us: till we notice
we are colorful. We’re the mother

full of milk; we’re the renegades
who drink it. If we want to think
a thing, more than likely we will
think it. Meanwhile, fill the tub
and take this poem there:

and sink it.


Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Hanging Out with You

Rivulets of untoward sense
like juice from ripe Augustan peaches
reach transgressively from me to you
and you to me while I hang on

your nearest knee and we reveal
the panoply. Hanging out with you
resembles sex – the spirit, not the letter.
We like what we do better.