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Cool Whisper | Poetry
The curl of sage like soggy reeds, native and wild. Smoke. Peace. A soup of stillness spiced with cayenne hope. If morning rises so noticed, then why can’t an immortal second? Who can claim with certainty that such a thing doesn’t exist?I’ve driven t...
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Up Here I Fly | Poetry
“Look down!”That was the real message of my childhood.That has been the only message of my adulthood.Imagination is for children.Adults have no use for it.“Thinking outside the box” isn’t imagination.Besides, if you truly did “think outside the box,”...
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You Give Us the First Miracle, We'll Explain the Rest | Poetry
Tell me it's a hologram in eight dimensions,and that light and gravity share kissesacross vast black seas flecked with fusion-fire.Tell me it's countable and knowable,that mysteries are like wide-eyed schoolgirlsjust begging to be undressed and penet...
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Left | Poetry
Left of anything is a story.I tell it to myself in my saner moments.I drink it and bathe in it andlet it drain me of will and wandering. Left of anything is a song.I can't hear it,but it can hear me.I sing to it,and I feel it smile nightswhen th...
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Cut Flower | Poetry
She has no cares,no selfish yodeling in the shower,no red lipstick on his collar,no sly glances, no jumping up and down,no rent checks, no chicken fingers,no gray skies, no starched white underwear,no golden trumpets blaring orgasm,no readying for pr...
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Gray-Blue-Silver | Poetry
The rain sweeps over the river minutes before it gets to us.Dripping lime-colored moss.Tears of life upon summer’s decaying detritus.This morning: gray-blue-silver, with a breeze.The soft roar of a nearby creek,brought to life by earlier sweeps.Robin...
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The Lonesome Road | Poetry
To-day. To-wit.Blue-on-gray-on-blue.The sway of the world.Slow. Cumbersome.Indescribably beautiful.Life hangs everywhere,turns yellow, red, orange, brown ...releases from its parent,floats to the steady-damp earth.Meaning paints on the blank canvas o...
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Misapprehension | Poetry
What does the sky hold that the space between my ears can’t?Bark sloughs off the tree, and grass grows beneath it,and flowers attract bees.Work is force times acceleration.When the book closes,only darkness reads its pages.When I close my eyes at nig...
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If I Remember | Poetry
Walking this time of year feels like breathing.Times are I forget which is which,or that I’m doing both.The speedy sun has no need for contemplation.It wants to marry arguing horizons.Colors and shadows.We lose sight of how dark everything is.I’m not...
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Swaying Yellow | Poetry
Will in dreams the day be met,one from the other:a start, or the waft of fresh and tangy frustration, or the chilly drive home.A hillside, baked and unnoticed.Dark timber. A thin layer of dust.A sprinkler raining sunshine on glistening blades of gree...
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What Have You Nailed Yourself To? | Poetry
It isn’t a waste of time to scream at the stars, or throw out your oatmeal,or watch birds pecking away at the feeder, or dip your feet into swirlingand muddy river water to retrieve a bit of red driftwood.Who makes up such rules anyway? I’d really li...
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