if only

my conscience would call in sick for a day.

lacking redemption.

at three am
in a san francisco hotel room
blackness blankets us
save the glowing monitor
playing reruns of the jesus channel
sermons of wrath, greed, lust

and i have fallen

back asleep dreaming
of peter, paul, and luke
riding an escalator to heaven
ignoring the temptation of apple martinis
and joking of a messiah
who will never arrive.

he says to me, 'i am two-thirds the devil.'

woven.

common thread
ties
your ferocious anger
at the sun, the color of rain,
to my attempts
at deep tunneling to China
to your grandfather's horses who are
the definition of passion
and together we will play telephone
discontinuing our narrative
who knows
how these things work,
anyway.

[re]construction (stills).

silent | still | image.

this morning
between four and five
in the breaking hours of dawn
i awoke, startled and breathless,
from a dream of

an abandoned farm house
with a dirt floor beneath
a formica top kitchen table
littered with remnants of a ham and potato supper,
the dining chairs pushed back
in the slightest disarray and

in the next room,
three wooden coffins sat
where the light of day
streamed through a dust-covered window
glinting off the golden crosses
atop each coffin
but one.

a chance of rain.

across from you

at a table i sat at years ago, i watch
storm clouds making their way home

i secretly ask
if they will
rain tears
for me

and i wonder
if you'd catch them when they fall.

dutch mordant. 10 to 1.

i slide the plate
into acid
watching bubbles form
thinking all the while
about the etching
of my soul
of the story
i have to tell
in deep black lines
on shiny, silver steel
never to be removed
erased or ignored.

holiday.

guilt
[today]
scarlet regret
[aboutyesterday]
like green envy
[i've felt before]
threatening me
in this white-
sheeted bed.

crossing the alleghney.

taxi cab
ride
endless chatter
like
birds in the nest
needing
but wanting out.

cradle.

you rock me
in a porch swing
my legs
          entwined
with your thighs
as we talk
about nonsensical things
from here to there
              is to was
and all things
in between.

wishful thinking.

there are animals
which have no nerves
of touch, yet they act
as though they felt
what touched them.

a single-celled animal
moves as a whole; but
has neither nerves
nor muscles; it takes
account of its environment
though it has no brain.

it does not
have feeling.

lucky.

three ideas of god.

hartshorne says
god is one of three things:

1. in all respects, he is perfect and complete
2. perfect and complete in some respects, but not all
3. not perfect in any respect

i'd have to side with the last one.

i am not a fish
but lately i feel like one
who has jumped from her waterbowl
and flops on the floor
suffocating.

self-induced euphoria.

there's a stairway out
but you swagger in
the darkness searching
groping for the rail
your disease is sucking you
inside out alcohol vibrates
your pupils
your hands
your tongue swarms
with masses of fireants
and suddenly you know
there's a chance
that you are just
slightly genuis.

blur.

at 86
the world
blurs by glass
shifting
focal point
ceaselessly
never letting
you see ahead
or behind.

pressure.

diffuse this bomb
choose the right wire
or this will all detonate | explode
in your tiny face
           shrapnel of history
will get in your eyes
embed itself
           in your skull | heart | lungs
never to be removed
existing only as
a dull, ever-lasting
throb.

we imagine what
we will never be
what we cannot have,
for one reason
or another.

it is our way
of attaining that
which is unattainable.

but never
can it make
this heartache subside.

lifechange.

in iowa
a grey painted porch
in need of a good sanding
as was yours, i remember
the way
the earth moved
when you spoke
just a tiny bit
to change my perspective
on everything.