Magnitude

It manifests as blush –

whatever matters happens
as an upward thrust:
a rush of blood to flush the skin –

to hush, re-size the mind –
to brush against its blindness:
unsentimental kindness
far beyond the merely wise:

like an orgasm’s epiphany:
breath gasped, death grasped –
head to heart to crotch.
It’s worrying to watch.









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Confession

Fragile, stark,

rooted in the dark –

immune to most communion:
your impulse to connect

still – nonetheless –
elects to probe –

project its expectations –
be lured into the globe

of human possibility –
to interact: refract

its light – find traction
in a bright encounter

where it can –
with a man.







.

Here We Go Again

Pressuring oppressively, it shoves you –

whining, mauling, prodding you to care.

Humidity hangs on as if it loves you –

then breaks as if it never had been there.

.

Caught

Caught –

in grammar
of its lone
perception:

thought –
enamored
of its own
reflection.










.

Morning Prayer

Dimensions of affectionate inspection –

aspects of the flesh and breath regard each other
as the morning fully separates itself from dawn –

brightens to a story and a glory we must all take on –
lightens as the night’s bewildering incitements scatter.
Here we are again as if we matter!










.

The Ampler Fund

We think we’ve got a handle on why we

are three instead of one: we are the ampler fund:

a you and me and you: a trinity of points-of-view
necessitated by the exigencies of complexity:

manifesting a triumvirate of minds because
collectively the triplicate it makes us finds a better

chance of understanding why the sweetness
of the city summer and the bluest sky which

tumbles into late July retrieves the pristine fullness
in us that it does. We are the peach without

the stone or fuzz: the bee without the sting or buzz:
a clarity – a triple paradox of singularity: we are

the meaning of the thing that sings until the song
is done. That’s why we are three instead of one.








.

On Buying a Red Blanket on Sale at ‘Bed, Bath & Beyond’

The leavening of internecine
schemes into a dream –

the gentle fight –

the germinating light –

generating inward sight
less interested in a solution
than in flight:

that’s what I will
find in my red bed tonight.








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