Saturday, September 20, 2014

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Sunday, September 14, 2014

"another window to wash our faces in"

Sea-Map
Hilda Morley

Taste of salt on my fingers,
                                           that’s how
I like it:
               the line of sea rising
above the dark-green pine,
                                           the sea meeting
the horizon,
                     so always the eyes are lifted higher,
                     the pulse buoyed upward
with them
                  So it
should be for us all—
                                  to belong to
whatever moves us outward into
the wideness, for journeying,
                                              tales of
distant places,
                        treasures piled
                        to fill our smiling,
                                                       for us to know of
along the travelled coastline,
                                           the mountains
we can climb to,
                           each port,
                                           each harbor
another window to wash our faces in,
                                                         pull us
forward
               & made for us,   made for
all of us,
                as the birds know, who
fly the continents,   the oceans
for their secret reasons,
                                     a map of the earth
written inside their bodies,
                                           marked
under their breastbones:   
                                       a continuance
of the now most fragile,         
                                        always travelled
patiently enduring world

Friday, September 12, 2014

despite



bĂȘte noire

each flawed and aching tendon
each depraved and rancid meat sac
each pustule, each boil, each canker, each cancer
each flower that rotters
each tree that mourns roots
each insect ground blindly into ground
each  each  each
us
each us
each ennui
each terrible happening and terrible consequence
each terror and capitulation
each tremor and corporeal lamentation
each
each thing blessed but tainted
each thing reviled, anathema
each absence of answer
each absence of power
each presence of question
each muscular thwartage
each muscular throe
each trashing in, thrashing on and thrashing up against
each damned thrashing

each - rise the next wave
each - possibility

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Friday, August 29, 2014

the glare

there is a glare off the glass of the ordinary

it hurts

there is an ordinary hole, an absence, in each of us

 it hurts too

one shape, one sharpening, one keening of light and form might fill the other
can, and does

this hurts also

Monday, August 25, 2014