Paid to rob
our only harvest,
the world screams.
Waves of autumn
like old rolled rugs
riddle the gutter.
Garnetting and carding,
scoring and scaring,
Her season’s quilt.
The acorns’ pillows,
walnuts mattress,
disappear like bulky items.
Pecan hulls pierce my feet.
Squirrels’ scorn and deer leer,
a lawn prepared for Holiday Cheer.
The toboggan sat
Patiently on the white shelf
Waiting all summer
She’s quiet like a mother’s voice,
yielding in a thicket breeze,
pasture receiving her clear message.
.
Pursues me like a shoreline wave,
encompassing my skin and bone,
rhythm moving her last vestige.
.
She gives like sun in late July,
joking with a tongue of fire,
patrons calling for her presage.
–
For C.G.
Orange sunset sits
Locust choir canopies
White buckwheat flowers
Hot afternoon sun
Her white light blinding the groom
A truth of marriage
–
Dedicated to M. & O., may your union spread joy in the world.
Tall, hot lesbian
or is he a hemp farmer?
Depends which channel
For – AP
Black house with red doors
A vulture lands on the roof
No carcass in sight
Blue full moon evening
Honeysuckle aroma
Rolling cat, crickets
Sidewalk worms in hand
I’ve taken the birds’ breakfast
My ocean needs whales
If I were a mountaineer,
crossing streams of water clear,
babblings brooks and antlered deer,
whistling birds and squirrels I’d hear,
if I were a mountaineer.
Summer showers, thunderstorms,
in the wood by fire warm,
nursing my new mind just born.
If I were a mountaineer,
close I’d hold the mountains dear,
every valley, every cave,
high ridge lines, the views I’d crave,
if I were a mountaineer.
Horizons ever moving back,
my teeth grown strong from nuts to crack,
open pastures, cairn stacks.
If I were a mountaineer,
roaming predators, would I fear?
Teeth and jaws made just for me,
claws for climbing any tree,
if I were a mountaineer.
My legs turned trunks and fingers branched,
my spine, it’d bare an avalanche,
working hard on Gaia’s ranch.
If I were a mountaineer,
my knots would hold a thousand years,
bobcat sly and vultures leer,
tough as timber, shed no tears,
if I were a mountaineer.
I’d lose all sense of time and space,
moving slowly, snailing pace,
every moment, I’d win my race.
If I were a mountaineer,
I’d be alone on ciffs so sheer,
my feet long bare, they’ve turned to hands,
the goats they’d call me “monkey man”,
if I were a mountaineer.
I’d plant a tree and walk away,
and hope we’d meet again some day,
planning playgrounds here to stay.
If I were a mountaineer,
I’d sense the smell of carcus near,
maggots turning, organs beer,
like my voice, it’d disappear,
if I were a mountianeer.
I’d forage fungi, collect seed,
I’ve nothing else, no book to read,
watch Helios, his trusted steed.
If I were a mountaineer,
my beard grow longer every year,
my nails I’d bite and save for snacks,
or leave them long for picking thatch,
if I were a mountaineer.
I’d fall asleep by Atlas’ sky,
expanding wide in dreams I’d fly,
the stars, they’d twinkle, in my eye.
If I were a mountaineer,
one day should a town appear,
will I go or will I sneer?
Will I move on, pioneer?
if I were a mountaineer?
–
For P.N.C.
“You should publish this”