Snow – a Haiku

lightly falling snow:
like portraits of the stars drawn
all in miniature.

(…depending on how you pronounce ‘miniature’. You might want to remove the ‘all’ from the last stanza!)


stroke of the clock

These days,
I more or less think of you
in the past tense.

Time is, was, will not be
my strong suit
but I get better
with every blow
life deals to my head.

Faint concussions rap out the days
and hours that widen between us,
the moments and weeks
ticking against my skull.

Now I can sit,
temporally adjusted,
my aching temples
removing me from
how close I really am to you.


I have drunk too much
of your wine, my love.
My glass tips, teeters,
tumbles to the floor.

How can I sate myself now,
with the last of you soaking the floor?
How can I soothe my spinning head
without a drop of you
in my morning tea?

I find myself clutching shards of a broken cup,
thirsty and unsteady for want
of another taste of your vintage,
and all the grapes are sour.

Speaking for you.

I could speak
for the knees that hit the ground
for the hands that are tied and made limp
for the mouths that bleed
and cheeks that grow wet

I could declare war
on the fists and words
that make us low;
I could decry your viciousness,
your greed
and your thousand
dirt-marked palms

My voices are within me,
damp, starved prisoners
crouching inside me
My songs lace tightly over my tongue
like my latticed fingers
this power waltzes
through my hands
flickering over my keyboard

In softly rustling rhymes
I will condemn you;
in scribbled shouts
letters that point their fingers;

I will forgive you with a hush

For you, too,  
huddled and fear-blistered,
I can only tap out
this unsubtle Morse code 
more a prayer 
than a message to you

Fever Trip

You become the pavement,
the bridges, the softly sighing reeds
murmuring back the secrets
of the taillight eyes,
peering through wheat hair.

The window breathes against your face
cool air heavy against you
as you disperse yourself
along the route you travel.

You merge with yellow lines
dancing careful entranced
between death going one way
and death going another;

past sick fluorescent QuickChek lights,
the rivers floating phantom cities,
nameless numbers counting ghosts,
neon lights that blur and twist
you spin into the damp, dark sky.

Racing wild outside the glass
you ride between the clouds
a dashboard diety incarnate,
zipping down the parkways
shot like veins beneath
the blacktop by the sickle moon.

Written February 2005
Revised March 2012


bolt of lightning in my hands
        cold metal
        white seashell
        under my fingernails
wild thing twisting against me
you dare me

you challenge me
    with your furious neck
    with your impudent clatter
    with your weight
          and your burden
but i bite

my mouth can be stern too
my grasp can be a command
and your blistering defiance
buckles against my teeth
                and singing for me

now the dare moves through me
    the air into
        and out of my lungs
        moves through you

and i succeed
    i take your voice
    i take your power
and i move through you now
      like you were my own body
      like we were alive together
and together we are

March 2012