Things To Read

Though I am Young and Cannot Tell -Ben Jonson

Morning Song -Marcia F Brown


Storm -Sally Plumb Plumb

two days in
chin up, eyes down
blink your eyes and
     do not miss her
think of all the things you see
     when she gets back, we will take tea
i am wide and narrow
write to-do lists to stay slow

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

(an excellent way to start the first chapter)

On Fri-the-day in Physics
we spent all trying on movie scripts
cutting them down, wrapping them around our calves like
shin-guards, tight and vaguely reassuring
 And have I read it? just the first
You tell me juice instead of grey
I wish you best but do not say so
a woman makes a cup of her heart, and in that way I hear
how he came home to
a surprise celebration of Gerald
(tunes with mountains and bears)
the hell's bells man, what a sweet sound
they were
some kind
of astounding

Ninoryck root

 we made sandwiches with our hair-

trickling braids-down-our-backs

 no plant blocking sunlight

  plugging lungs

   licking egg-whites

 lined up linoleum

  lotion with lanolin stolen from lambs

lion-gold tresses dirtied yellow at the ends

    (and I long for softrounded

     pencil chalk draw-

     ings oozing out ink

     ink bred from sin)

 dull knife pulling hand

  slick snick-snaring mayonnaise 

matching up with our very own teeth

 we slept willy nilly king

-style medley up our dreams

   with oil etchings

carving sweet ninoryck

    (and it was a good breakfast

     to be had at morning 12

     knowing like the moon did

     that for a dance of wheels

     a crown may glow)

Fibonacci and Why I Love Walden

This is all old stuff. It was for a math final, of all things. 

Psychoses

Sleep

Evades my grasp

I'm left to wonder and wallow

In my mind, echoes and hollow

Mix together

Fuse

Can't

Place in order

My thoughts or things inside them now

I have to name the why and how

Of things long since

Gone

  

Babylon

Oh, Babylon

Lush gardens soaking rooftop sun

Rich markets trading silks, gold, silver, perfume, frankincense and myrrh

Oh, Babylon

With secret riches gleaming

In your city streets so teeming with vibrant life and luxury

Oh, Babylon

My heartstrings twang at thoughts of you

And the sorry ages that will pass after you are dry ruins

Scribe

Dark

Dry and

Welcoming,

Empty passages

Beckoning for me, papyrus

Knowledge lining halls,

Scrolls filed,

Full of

Lost

Words

Gang Rumble

Midnights

Aren't kind

To those who trade blood

To make a living, to survive

Switchblades

Flipping wide

Spilling wet scarlet

Onto rough, uncaring concrete

Unheard

Half-formed pleas

Crying 'No, not me,'

Ignored because they should have known

Dreams

My fears

Collected

In the air, condensed

Congealed, and beat me into pulp

I lay suffocating on the ground as Hope looked on

She gave me a broken smile

Getting into fights

Wasn't her

Style

Fairy Tale

Raven-black, snow-white, bloody red

Princess hair, skin, lips

If she knew

Would  she

Still

Bite?

Saturday

Ann

Broke up

With Markus

Mint-cherry ice cream

Chick flicks, used kleen-ex on the floor

KS

For K:

As I was sitting,
  legs lotus-folded (like human origami)
Listening to your message
Thinking how your wry wit always
  sends trickles of glory into my laugh

As I was listening,
 ears cold without the warmth
Of your conversation to heat them
I wished for your kind of company,
  like a museum in the rain

And I was thinking
I don't know what this means

I was searching for evidence
 like a deaf man for music
Or perhaps more like a dust mote
 looking for home

Perhaps more like a map
 Embossed vellum with names of
Places etched meaningfully
 With red dotted trails leading
Looping and folding back into themselves
 Except the X is absent

I was looking for meaning
 in the ideas we'd shared
And here is the truth, I do not
 twinge with dolorousness
 I do not keep souvenirs of you

You will find no evidence of the time
          (chalk-dusted fingerprints on cold glass)
Spent with me until you
          (hush and behold the mystery)
 reach to discover moments
          (hidden and higher than most)
Stacked tall in my memory
          (tip the shelves in the library, it all tumbles down)