Sun salutation begins without shades.
Hair fallen in to pools of rust catalyst,
coolant, hydraulic drips, and dust.
Sweater oil saturated
from months of curbs and slush,
the weeds are sprouting now.
Dry asphalt and breeze dries dripping nose,
in the shade it is still cold.
The fused bolt lets go with a bark.
Fingers spasm. Throb and lock
around the wrench's shaft. Breath and spit,
rust dust, and rubber grounds flecks hit lips.
Groan. Groans. Together. "The river
never froze and may never again,"
said Chibup to Westir (the two seagulls
that always perch atop the two lamp-posts
at the pier walk);
overheard, but not dictated.
Sneeze hard enough to bang forehead
loud enough to get the neighbors dog woofing.
The clock answers both the same,
a pendulous and deep chime.
Hands faster. No mosquitoes, yet.
Everything is easier in reverse.
Is that Mars? Venus? Helicopter.
The sun settles in for dinner. Time to leave.
The torque wrench clicks,
muscles burn in a heat
Spring promises will come.
Glow in the dusk, the bolt, the movement,
the wrench chirp and click of Summer crickets.
original works of parts
Daydream
Laughter drowns headphones.
Pause in the crosswalk.
Eyes glued to contrails
lancing through
Winter sky;
clouds of black and Black and Milds
pull a rip chord.
Oncoming bus. Four door people mover
in the opposing lane. Move!
Sidewalk.
Horn!
Pause in the crosswalk.
Eyes glued to contrails
lancing through
Winter sky;
clouds of black and Black and Milds
pull a rip chord.
Oncoming bus. Four door people mover
in the opposing lane. Move!
Sidewalk.
Horn!
Can You Hear It
The French Horns and Trombone
carrying over the wood tops
while you poke a twig near the river.
Between the tiny frog burps and the cricket
wings chirp. The sun came up again.
Fool on you. Tasting the droplet,
put fingertips in pocket. Dream about
the flutes are going with a timpani
a dragonfly takes a picture of the
hues of green reflected in the stream
and all above
snare drowns out a harp.
Electric guitar fires up
a few hillocks away from here,
but loud enough to sing along.
Sing along if you'd like
to
like
like to.
Days and years and a few
long blinks.
A cymbal does its best to crash.
A fire does its best to belch up ash,
while a flask is emptied. A top its head.
The stars look a bit a clearer now
with the sounds of laughter
and running dogs without leashes.
The weather's been funny,
I don't know how
anyone manages to sleep these days
before Spring hits full swing.
I thought we had a thing, you know,
A snowman building contest.
Or at least an open skate.
The breezes taste long and
the air is wet.
Thunder and lightning came back to bed.
The river won't freeze and just like that
Winter is over.
carrying over the wood tops
while you poke a twig near the river.
Between the tiny frog burps and the cricket
wings chirp. The sun came up again.
Fool on you. Tasting the droplet,
put fingertips in pocket. Dream about
the flutes are going with a timpani
a dragonfly takes a picture of the
hues of green reflected in the stream
and all above
snare drowns out a harp.
Electric guitar fires up
a few hillocks away from here,
but loud enough to sing along.
Sing along if you'd like
to
like
like to.
Days and years and a few
long blinks.
A cymbal does its best to crash.
A fire does its best to belch up ash,
while a flask is emptied. A top its head.
The stars look a bit a clearer now
with the sounds of laughter
and running dogs without leashes.
The weather's been funny,
I don't know how
anyone manages to sleep these days
before Spring hits full swing.
I thought we had a thing, you know,
A snowman building contest.
Or at least an open skate.
The breezes taste long and
the air is wet.
Thunder and lightning came back to bed.
The river won't freeze and just like that
Winter is over.
Smoker 50
Sorting through old scans of saved photographs
to see if my teeth will end up exact copies
of my father's. He had his wisdom teeth removed
I think? On his own dental plan. Did he have them done
before his 31st birthday? Maybe not. Never came up.
I may keep my hair. Maybe not.
Murderers row. My mustache is growing
up in to my nostrils. Stop doing that! Stick scissor tip
inside to clip. Blunt. Pick! Rip! Red drip follicle
dangle mirror twitch. What are you doing up there?
Make me sneeze. Papertowel, teary eyed. Faucet, hot
then cold.
The photos are of a person I wish I could
know, until they are not. Ember dies in a can's lid.
Breath in again. Have not slept right since
that bubble popped.
Why not acknowledge imperfection? Embrace him?
Fly a flag against the wind? To what end?
I will never understand,
though corneas dry at room temperature,
eyelids strain,
and rain dots cheek
for peering into memory's river banks.
to see if my teeth will end up exact copies
of my father's. He had his wisdom teeth removed
I think? On his own dental plan. Did he have them done
before his 31st birthday? Maybe not. Never came up.
I may keep my hair. Maybe not.
Murderers row. My mustache is growing
up in to my nostrils. Stop doing that! Stick scissor tip
inside to clip. Blunt. Pick! Rip! Red drip follicle
dangle mirror twitch. What are you doing up there?
Make me sneeze. Papertowel, teary eyed. Faucet, hot
then cold.
The photos are of a person I wish I could
know, until they are not. Ember dies in a can's lid.
Breath in again. Have not slept right since
that bubble popped.
Why not acknowledge imperfection? Embrace him?
Fly a flag against the wind? To what end?
I will never understand,
though corneas dry at room temperature,
eyelids strain,
and rain dots cheek
for peering into memory's river banks.
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