Fried Chicken & Philosophy

I watch the leave 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 stones
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 pools
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 meter
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.

 

The venetian cuts the sad,

I knit with it.

There is an endgame between us.

I somersault,

you cartwheel.

We nijinsky through the afternoon,

me, the snake plant and the fish.

We are familiar here,

armored against the free fall,

your hair is in a cleanline room.

Conjure far away,

I am a sunflower gone.

I wish I were with you. 

Who knew a bit
of god’s breath would find
soil in my soul
and working its umbilical magic
give more than it took.

Sails unfurl, flutter and fill
carve a figurehead
raise a mast
pray.

If I were a carpenter
I’d know the wood
you’d be ebony
we’d be so good.

Everything in the watch
distracted, I sleep
it does not.

Radiate jazz
now bebop
a pulse
it pulls me back.

It pushes change
soapbox screams
loss spits pain.

On my knees
I say
thank you jesus.

I was nothing
with you
I’d be something.

Reap what you sow
I didn’t plant
Yes, I leaned upon the plow
you say that’s enough.

I walked the field
without my shoes
yes it was
earth brown and warm
and the flowers
you and me hours,
but the watch is everything.

In the hollow between day and night
when puckered lips blow
like owls wing,
Azrael watches with me.

My finger on my lips
I blow a kiss.

An afterbirth of shavings
love soaked
rough hands and scars
cradle a thing
you carve without tools.

Hot breath born
and forearm polished
we are carpenters
mahogany we watch and wait.