The Cold Grand Form

 

Steady me against

the rising tide of night –
the waning of the light –
the sleek oblique
return to winter –
the sharper splintered
angles of the sun –
the cold, grand form.

Feel the blood run
to the center
of the question.
Hold my hand:
keep it warm.












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Tender Wontons

 

Today I Wikipedia-ed
the life and legacy
of Henry James.
I felt the sweetest bliss.

To think there actually
might have been a man
that ardently in love
with consciousness!

Henry wasn’t wild.
He stammered
when he was a child.

Every night without
(so far) becoming roly-poly
I consume what might
as well be Chinese ravioli:

tender wontons delicately

stuffed with bits
of content like a poem.

Like Henry, someday
I will show ‘em.






.

Oh!

 

Slow bit of wistful croon –

Faint minor third –

Low little glistening tune –
call of a bird –

oh! – to be listened to!
oh! – to be heard!











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There is no Story

 

Dispassionate dissociation
is the order of the day.
Persuasion does not sway.

Debates occur without
reverberating. Voices
murmur on about whatever

choices no one plans to make.
Some internal tremor
is occasionally felt to quake:

but nobody’s awake.
There’s nothing really wrong.
We’ll all get along.










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Collaborative Views

 

Pink begins to shrink
to parchment
in a sea of brilliant hues:
all of it is news –

collaborative views
that colors always take –
with which they make
relationships.

Blush sips gray –
youth kisses age today:
enjoy the gentle pace
of their embrace –

see how they get along:
see how they learn
no color with another’s
ever wrong.










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The Only Things that Interest Me

 

 

The still voice of the mystery
seems just now to have said,

"The only things that interest me

breed awe and shock and dread:

the meaning of infinity –

the empire of the dead."













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Dammit, I Think I’m in Love with You

 

October’s a fullback – rushing in rough –

killingly cunning and chilling and brilliantly
running and blocking and making it tough
to ignore him: “Enough!” I erupt at him:
jump up and hang on his neck like glue –
hold him so hard I begin to turn blue.
“Dammit, I think I’m in love with you.”












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