I hold my breath,
artificially awake,
my mouth full of
unswallowed tea,
I stare blankly into the window
cluttered computer screen
and think about a stranger’s
beautiful face.
Realizing my distraction
and not knowing how
long I have been in this state
my mind races back to
the reality around me.
In a painful gulp
the tea is gone.


Toltec Princess

Through blue and green,
through yellow grass –
she picks up her body, still heavy
from the long winter.
She yawns, stretches, begins
to creep across her home –
across the earth.
Sleep fades – the beautiful
black goddess begins to move
more swiftly than before.
Her muscles shimmer with
sunlight, moist with sweat.
She reaches up and brushes
her hundred-year-old hair,
gray with age. It trails her –
the wind catching it off her scalp,
raising it to heaven.
This feat of racing – charging through
the wood – draws a crowd –
restless spectators through the forest.

And then the enchantress sings.
Her followers’ hearts stop a moment –
they came here to hear her song.
They came for the song and the
sweet black perfume, which
rains as dust on their bodies.
She knows these people – they were
here last year, and years before;
and she loves them.
She moves her children – body and spirit.
She is strong and swift.
She is sweet.
This is 497’s dance –
a melodical ceremonial dance –
mysterious and magical and
routine. Will you wait for her?
Will you listen?


Bullet Holes & War

an homage to Gertrude Stein

Here they lie, Daddy.
Here they lie.
They are here – still here.
They lie here, still, Daddy.
Under this dirt, they lie here,
Daddy – under this dirt and
this grass and dirt and grass.
They lie here still, Daddy –
under this dirt and grass.
They are still, Daddy,
sent under this dirt and grass –
by bullet holes and war.
The bullet holes killed them,
Daddy, and now
they lie here still, under
this dirt and grass.
The war and bullet holes
killed them, Daddy –
bullet holes in their heads –
and this is where they lie.
Yes, under this dirt and grass,
Daddy, this is where they lie.
Too many, Daddy, too many
to count. Too many died, Daddy.
Too many lie here – under
this dirt and grass –
too many lie here still.
The war and bullet holes
killed too many, Daddy, and
they lie here – under this dirt
and grass.
Forgive them, Daddy –
they didn’t know – they didn’t
mean to die. They didn’t want
to kill and didn’t mean to die.
Forgive them, Daddy.
The bullet holes and war killed
them – and here they lie, under
this dirt and grass.
Too many of them didn’t know –
didn’t mean to die.
Forgive them, Daddy,
forgive them.
Too many that lie here still
(yes, under this dirt and grass)
didn’t want to kill.
Here they lie, Daddy,
under this dirt and grass.
Forgive them for dying –
for killing – forgive them, Daddy.
Under this dirt and
under this grass, where they lie.
The war and bullet holes killed
them, Daddy, and here they lie.
Can you blame them?
Forgive them, Daddy, forgive.
Here they lie – they lie still –
under this dirt and grass.


The Day the Sun Died

spark! flash!
             DARKNESS -
the sun went out
(it's Friday afternoon)
coldness settling
bringing death, sleep
Long live the King!
the sun is gone.
         The Son is gone.

Darkness fading into light
cold to warm
warm from cold
death is a pause -
unmoved, still, restless, alive.

flash! spark!
fires from heaven
(days since death)
the sun has returned.
         The Son has returned.
belief, sincerity -
death succeeded them.

heaven opens - sky doors
take Him back.
love is dead - it died with him.
departure brings peace, chaos,
Long live the King!
the sun has returned.
        the Son is gone.
Light is darkness.
coldness is warmth.
spark! flash! gone.



Swish, swish
wind and cold — who was there?
Who is there?
I knew you lived there —
but I don’t think I know you…
She said you’d be here —
aren’t you early.
rush, rush
confusion, speed — hold on to me…
Don’t jump ship.
She’s lost, but had a great
life. 20 years and it’s
time to sink.
Get out before your happy and
Go to Virginia or California or Washington State.
Sitting in the middle of a
crowd — right in the mosh pit —
it’s like suicide… Great Plains
murdering innocent natives.
Take me with you — Let’s go to Canada or
Connecticut — I need a coastline.


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