not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Monday, September 5, 2016

between two points



Summer Crosses The Water

First she is a far ways off
and it takes a good long while to focus,
to understand what's coming into view,
what's located like a dot between those two
anchored and distant islands.

Then she's in front of you, a boat,
filled with sundries and ice-cubed sodas
and women with thin straps coddling
off their shoulders, soft skinned, and thwack -
a stinging unrestful zestful desire, slipping,
slipping, slipping effortlessly through azure water.

Then she's advanced (holy hell, were you asleep?),
the hollowed hull of a cargo ship,
a sepulcher you can't hold or reach,
slipping, slipping, slipping again
around the harbour's bluff,
an empty drum, a lost host, a wraith.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

images in water



the tree grows from the shoreline
and the trunk is thrust out upon the water

is this is a photograph of desire? if so, whose desire?
or is desire, the lustful knot, undone in this?

is this image two dimensional?

how many dimensions is desire composed of?
how many leagues deep?

the snare of bulbous roots
casts forth its image
which does not complete itself

*

images in water

my mother is sitting in her easy chair with her oxygen
making circles with her fingers along the rise of each of its arms

she used to do this at lunchtime while sitting at the table with her novels
using the long fingers on one hand to encircle her chin, as she devoured the exotic mysteries

then later, as her eyes worsened, while we talked
she'd hold one arm and encircle her other elbow

i think about being at the river and tossing in stones
the circles widening until they swallow my image as i hang over the bridge

i look a little like my mother