excerpts from along the stream-shore of dreams
It gets hard to stand
after my hands have been bound
all day with jaws unbroken, set,
and a heart found through right cheek and eye
showing itself soft
through a wet tear telling me
I am in fact not all fear
and hardness
but tender too
Thank you
hands
who held a jaw my own,
teeth straight and sweet and white
but behind them tight
clenching back what I didn’t write
songs unsung
and times when my head hung
down and tilted like I was bowing to the Lord
But I wasn’t, I was lonely and sad.
feeling sorry for stones mixed into pavement
I was tired or tied or googling something
instead of going
out in the world to taste it
with my own mouth (one mandible and two temporal bones)
Fruit flies follow me
around
finding naught to eat
but salted crust
clinging to dried seaweed leaves
and bones
Damn,
if only
I had collected that pelican
head and gullet when
I had had the chance to fold it
under my wing,
and place it
among my other salted things,
it was a prize and a beauty
if ever there was one
won or found
I’ve got the chance to draw with snails
and dance
with bovine bone drum sticks like ribs
like those of a boat
that rows me safely, home
Quite an obsession
with this
one boat
with its oars
in sevens or fours
or sixes
it pours
wooden arms out from its heart under ribs
and scoops
salty sea
away from me
and I stay dry until
one snail finds and leaves
its greasy trail
of its one foot
across the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made
White teeth, gingiva exposed
Jesus put the O in sword and the O
in love.
dead wood alive wood
both lovely and hard
dead teeth alive teeth
both white and good
Every day
you wear grey
like some kind of dolphin costume or shark skin suit
a creature of the sea, you must be,
wearing the shade of whale and manatee
you are cute,
where are your feet for me
to play with?
Once you get a feel
for who you are you may
wear the colors that match
An earthquake struck our record
player, it tilts
but still
plays her crooked voice clear as a bell
An anal one you are about the dust
on the vinyl,
but not
the chocolate under your nails
from yesterday’s birthday cake
Basquiat paints
asleep under my arm
Prints hold the life and color of a special one
This special one sits between
his colors and your grey
and thinks, on this day,
like all the rest
I choose red and blue
as I always do
Like the inside of my veins
and heart
and the sky and middle part
of the earth.
Blood and beets and berries,
babies when they’re born,
and Larry’s
eyes.
And Steven’s stars.
Most things living fold into these colors
and they mix well with my pinks
and golds
and green
eyes
Some others
choose black and white, the only colors needed to write
these words
or hold the smiles
of my great grandparents
dead wood alive wood
both lovely and hard
dead teeth alive teeth
both white and good
Blue ice eyes
crooked smile
Larry’s bridges falling down
plank of steel bent to round
no deep grave in the ground
but a gull flying on the wing over blue
A bridge stretches out across the gulf then up
to Maine spanning our land
to foggy bay, its two-lane
meet again
Oh, Albert Lane
your eyes clear green
like the Gulf of Mexico
your son Joe
my love, my own man
would wear your leathers
when he welded
but for thermal tears that told tales
of life
and love
and loss
In the heather
at Glen Coe
in ice-cold streams mashing
clay-colored bracken
in our boots with our souls
we sloped upwards
along the stream-shore of dreams
here, moss is green gentle gems
glistening on wet rocks and logs
not spiraling beards tickling our ears
like it is back home
You came home too, and built a bridge
to your son
amidst that saggy-grey moss
where ole Mississippi runs
with small beards we made
of powdered sugar crumbs
we laughed and walked and you watched,
in your cut-off jean shorts,
as we compared our thumbs.
Now a bridge from green waves and silver hairs
spans to blue bay
shore cliffs
and painted houses like the ones back home
I am sad we didn’t walk on this red steel here together,
that holds its arms wide
and well
to the biggest blue
like you would do
if your gull grabbed on to this wind and flew
Effortlessly shared
like sunlight
love
is effortlessly shared when
I don’t care
about any other heart
but my own.
looking to see
if California orange poppies are growing
or trash is blowing by
or piling up.
Noticing if it’s speaking the language of trees today
or if it is stale leftovers left out wrapped up in aluminum foil.
Is a wren perched waiting in stillness
or a gull soaring in broad blue?
Are the hawks talons dug in
gripping
making tears and scars?
in my heart
I track the beasts and fauna and feelings
like my life depends on it,
and so it does
If the sun don’t shine
the sun don’t shine
and everything dies