cinderlake

i saddle up the oars

i stitch the horse's voice with

another room

the leaves fall by breathing

the conduit of a cat's ear cries

egypt

egypt

egypt

the absurdity of miracles is the

before

and

after

thought

thick

like lamp to

quicksand

quieting alabama hands

we constructed dioramas of

diamond sutras

swamis

the mamas

and papas

songs we've never listened to

the ( Read more... )

tiny spiders tend the fires

in the language of ants

and centipedes

each little leg

a telegram

from an unknown

argentinian writer quoting

ferlinghetti

muttering the drunk

smile of

a forgotten telephone

number

oh, my mouth number than a moth-tamer

in a drugstore doorway

making love to dust

clapping hands

the two doves

hovering

overhead

are a different dream

THOSE ( Read more... )

love is a

silent language woven like

a japanese flower

whose petals

ripple in seas of pinot like

monet

painting a messy room

swallowed

by

a cup of tea a

butterfly drinks

resting her wings like

a sleeping city of

presssed dandelions

whose manes

remain a bookshelf for unfolding

pianos

travelers

tobacco

smoke in the wheel of

a bicycle

hidden and

ridden like

a bead of ( Read more... )

st. cloud

wind milled red maple
swallows sky
sparrows fly
above
under
passes -

laughter

( the rest of my portland trip poetry journal... )

the kingfish swallowed swords ( Read more... )

portland.

in a matter of hours i will be kissing your streets.

wholeness.

we've already eaten the mountains

why, dan featherhorn? FLOWERY ROCKS.

fingers to tumblers of five-year-olds where
brittle
little
bits
of sandstone become
rocking chair cherubim or
radiant peacocks fanning
eternal wings to
cover
clocks
with the washed
out
eyes
of
INDRA

forgotten letters begin to
G   R   O   W
from ( Read more... )

a somali
child
WHACKS
WHACKS
WHACKS
bus pole
with his
MAKESHIFT
toy
smile

peering into the seer
a four year
OLD
GOD
BOY
BOOMS
BEATS
BLOOMS
LEAVES

ALL

IN

AWE

for where
is the elephant i've
seen him riding
bareback in dreams
unfurling petals
from trunk if not
within the
eye
worn
round
my
wrist?

the calico cat lazily
lies in cordouroy lap
and
licks
the air between
skin
and
hair

gently
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
awake

the H becomes a
chair upon which we
cannot sit and a
little black girl crying mommy
trips over purses too large for a
future of
hula hoop day dreams and
open lips
and arms
and harmless
little
heel clicks

the clocks have reached their coda and

the alphabet smiles the carpet to sleep.