Natural Arc

I watch the leaves shimmer
in the light and grow
and die and I suppose
that when the earth
gives up
its diadems that this
has a cosmology to it
As when the river rushes
to suicide so quiet
that no sound is breeched
but still
there is rebirth

I swing out
on a natural arc
that returns me
broken brilliantly
like so many copper pennies

I ask you
is this the depth of it
Shall I cast a net
bring back those commended to the deep
or should I sow
the sorrows that I reap
is it better to sew
mouths shut
capturing odd pebbles
or should we brook
all things in a sputter
based on spark and circumstance

I follow this natural arc
all rainbows have right angles
I return to tidal pool
by eclipsing one eye
then both
each a handful
of water and light
each a dream wing
that means nothing without another

I swing out
and it returns me
fractured
as a pebble busted pond
I swing out
as I do I follow the natural arc
a metre
a time
a space between some joy
or pain
that has a reason to be
more that a gaudy bauble

I hang upon your breasts
a natural arc
I follow to conclusion
do I ask how full
the measure or the season
or do I hurl
into the curve
and does the crowd
sigh
for more.

What You Wish For

Be
A saw against hard wood
A dust pile
A small breath
When you sigh
Imagine a hurricane

Careful
As you measure
Each line becomes a cut
Each cut becomes a scar
Each scar becomes a badge
Of loving you

What
Furniture we make
More than a bed
Parallel to our desires
akimbo to our thoughts

You
Want the hammer now
Beat down the nails
the saw was not enough
I hold out my hands

Wish
That the clouds
Would fill the empty places
And raise us where our needs
Are pure

For
In our loins and time
There lays an almost perfect truth
Of stealth and thievery

The Color of My Life

Black is color of my life. Black are my lover’s eyes. Black her swaddling clothes. She races life in black stilettos. My, my, my. Black is life before creation. Black is life after the apocalypse. Black crepe paper is the night sky with junkie tracks we call stars. Black like me. Yes. No. Black is the color of my heart. Black are my tears. My black blood vanishes into the black earth. The pits of hell are black. My deeds are black. My future is black. My children are black. The stories I read them have black morals. Young, gifted and too black. Shoe shine black. Boot black. Tar baby black. Black gold. Black is beautiful. Black is where it’s at. Jazz is black. Didn’t you know. Blues is black. Black is blues. Just a color variation, but it’s black. I read black. I buy black. I fuck black. God is Black. You didn’t know that. The road is black. Black is shuffling to the brink of humiliation. That’s a black joke. It’s a black thing. Black is the long day's journey perforated by an occasional riot we call color. Black is what we close our eyes to. Remember that. Black is what we close our eyes to. And still we rise because what else are we to do. We are black.

Across the Room

Across the room
Still breath in her mouth
Unmoved I stumble
Her eyes x-ray mine.

Zigzag I think
She as the crow flies
Impenetrably black
She mobs
Leaving me a handful
Of sweat and ash.

Upon her whispers
I stand and bow
She laughs I come
I come she laughs.

Her voice an uprising
She dances round the wagons
and takes my scalp
wears it when in sequins
and tells the girls
she’s had better pelts.