Revision

11th

We are a revision
Eraser flakes stuck in eyelashes
Paper worn thin, faded lines
We are a rough draft
Editors’ marks in red
Slashes through bolded words, dry ink
The two of us are coffee stains on napkins
And tea bags sticky with cold honey
Bread crumbs, magazines, scattered feathers
I like to believe that one man’s trash
Is another’s treasure
And that maybe some polishing,
Some looking to the east
Could be enough

Lucky Penny

11th

Crisp morning resting on the floor
And bright, cold October peeking through blinds
I won’t forget the cramp in my back, stiff neck
The sounds of breathing from the surrounding rooms
Alice made coffee, her hair rumpled with memories of sleep
There were eggs later, but I can’t remember from where

In a bright cubicle of concrete and domesticated vines
You woke last, ambled out when the rest of us
Sat together under a broad-leafed tree
And I thought the sky cupped your face like a lover’s hands
That kiss in the quiet was my favorite, my lucky penny
Brief, but I felt it closest- your cotton shirt, swollen eyes

This is the first time I decided to love beards;
I see men with them now and want to reach out my fingers

Bone Dry

11th

I sing that song under my breath
Feeling a movie-scene tremble;
And my foot is tapping
But not for dancing, not to a rhythm-
Unless it’s my nervous breathing
The only preparation and expectation is
To keep back bile
To keep down my dinner

Shattered bones form a cage in my chest
And one of these days
I’ll stop poking my fingers through
Curiosity will abate, sunsets will be easy again
And the murmured song under my breath

1764

11th

The green emeralds tumble
With dangerous, pointed facets
While birds cry, and watch;

Eighty years of proud masts
And dense, warm sand
Have carved a niche
Now empty, and stone cold

Soft bandages wait, hopefully
Because those torn hands
Crying tears of red, red rubies
Need rest, and soothing

Carnival

11th

It is very cold out
But the ducks, with heads tucked
Under their downy wings
Look warmer than I feel
And lake reflect reflected with harsh
Orange streetlamp light
The fountain’s splatter and hiss
Is my companion tonight-
Even the criminals don’t come to this park
So tree-less, so intrusively lit

That old circus tune plays a creaking circle
In my mind-
Dun dun-a-dun
A loop
Dun dun-a-dun
A vague warning
Dun dun-a-dun
That doesn’t reach my lips
Dun dun-a-dun
And if it did it would be like
The scattered white feathers under my feet
Dun dun dun-a-dun dun
Or a ghost

Fortune Telling

11th

Like so many crystal balls
The streetlamps glowed tripled
Against the sky, and out from
Chilled puddles on the ground-
My future too?
I think of a dust cloud
Small and drifting up
From shuffled tarot cards
A memory exposed;
If you shook my bones
Or more appropriately, tossed them
Like fortune telling tiles
A similar smell would drift by
Cold as puddles, and my lying eyes

Face in the Snowstorm

11th

It’s like I’m a snowstorm--
Each day feels as if my face is subtly different

I wait;
Wearing a future of undetermined moments around my neck
A reassuring, distant consistency