Down The Waterspout (NaPoWriMo Day 29)

  I remember your scales. The slow crawl of time as I ran my hands over them, My heedlessness echoes reptilian, limbic brain recognizes that call to the dark, that nod to the nothing, transmitting from your body’s music through the maze that imprints an identity on the whorls of my fingertips, humming and hiccoughing…

El Lunario (NaPoWriMo Day 28)

      This power he held over their women drove the village men mad with jealousy. One night they hunted him and killed him, hacking him to pieces. Where he was scattered and buried naked in the red dirt, trees sprouted, creating the great forests and jungles in the Mato Grosso do Sul. Within one…

When I know that I know that I know.  (NaPoWriMo Day 27)

Ammonia stings the eyes first, then slowburns down nasal passages, color-coating the uvula. Virtue signals its call sign, until the toxic avenger arrives on the scene, to preside over it chemical smelting of flesh and fume, clouds are swallowed; the ingestion is an easy handglide toward poisoning because, by this time, the brain and body…

Inclemency (NaPoWriMo Day 26)

“The Stars in their courses fought. the Sun! Moon! Heaven! Earth. Contending for Albion & for Jerusalem his Emanation And for Shiloh, the Emanation of France & for lovely Vala. Then far the greatest number were about to make a Separation And they Elected Seven, calld the Seven Eyes of God; Lucifer, Molech, Elohim, Shaddai,…

The Future Is The Past Wearing A Heavy Backpack

      This is not then, this is now. And now this is now. And now this, and this, and this. Was is not a word. Was is a time. Was is a whole series of lives that flutter behind your eyes. I roll my eyes back in my head like a casino slot…

Endgame (NaPoWriMo Day 25)

    I say to myself , the world is extinguished Though I never saw it lit. He leaves me again and again Unbolts the door of his cell and goes. So bowed he would only see his feet, if he’d open his eyes – his shadow drags behind him, tethered to the past a little…

Súton

    I miss you I cling to your memory Like shadows huddled beneath the bruise of thunder seeking the deeper alchemy in the light of sound… Clasping to hope I want you I want to be engulfed by the reassembled sky in your eyes. Tantalized Those flashes of aurora that arc dance in the…

A Modern Romance (NaPoWriMoDay 24)

“There’s two gray haired singles beside me at the coffee shop on what appears to be a first date. The man is explaining how Google works. She’s just nodding her head repeating the phrase, “mmhmm, yeah,” staring past him, dead eyed, at a painting on the wall. Modern romance?” ~A.j. Binash, Facebook status update  …

Lazar Us (NaPoWriMo Day 24)

    Words poured like lac from your mouth. Their meaning thick crimson – crushed and constringed – straining through the march of red ants that always fed you. I stormed your ivory gates – my claudicating limbs barely avoiding all the sticky puddles that swelled up in and around me. But it was Sunday…

Anti-Diarrheal: A Sonnet For NaPoWriMo Day 23

Oh you invading marauders within, Is it love that drives you to plunder me? I try to feel grateful, but am chagrined. There must be sweeter ways to woo, surely. The force of your feelings is ravishing You overwhelm with such rapacity I’ve no choice, I accept this lavishing And fill my bowels to capacity…

Apocalypse Now (Happy Earth Day)

The scorched earth will heal with time, Its battlescars will turn into beauty marks The evidence well hidden behind its molting surface. The mosaic of nature incorporates all media Into the downy plush Of her showgirl’s stroking brush. The sun presides over the dawn of every day Again and again Forever rising as it fulfills…

Miss Understood (NaPoWriMo Day 23)

  intimations of wind memories swirl their pile of leaves in her head everything is falling, falling softly the double helices spiral her roulette wheels are spinning presumptions of immortality but she is rooted in the moment ivory bone splinters wooden trunk her arms branch the embrace the sweet sap seeps its message: thwart nature…

Hindsight is 20/20 (NaPoWriMo Day 21)

We see people not as they are, but as we are. ~ Anais Nin Reflections of you Are all you see In the mirror of my eyes. Echoes of my ardor Bounce soundlessly Off the well-padded walls of your self-absorption. That inken pool of endless doubt and self-pity you gaze into Verily Greedily Needily (instead…

He’s a beautiful liar. 

When asked by friends and family why at his age he has so much hair, but so few grays, he always says, “Because I married well.”   He made Philip Glass’ Etude No. 2 his phone’s ringtone because he knows it’s my favorite, but when I call him his phone plays Hail To The Chief……

Psalm in the Key of D (NaPoWriMo Day 20)

  She bore witness to the sight of the love-drunk Moon rise out of the bay like Venus from the foamy Neptune broth, and the Moon looked at her with a disarming smile of such luminosity that it made that fat old Sun green with envy until it sunk deep into its nightly reverie. The…

“Shut up, you bitch!”

  He’s standing at the foot of Fort Mason Park addressing himself to the rising tide of rush hour traffic. The rubberneckers keep gliding on their asphalt river. Safely ensconced inside rolling coffins. Everyone else ignores him.   Just another wreck totaled in a mind-crash.   There’ll be no “Jaws of Life” to extract him from…

Howling At The Moon

  Night begins the day, day begins the night – these cycles of construction are useless measures we use to fracture the moments that soften our bones, there is no true separation, only segregation. Day and night are one and the same. Somehow we recreate creation in our image. It’s always dark somewhere. The sky…

Abuelita at Lauds (NaPoWriMo Day 18)

    The strum of fingers canonical Forever busy, their bee-wing promise untangling hoary knots of what She called my “pelo malo” A fragment of yesterwhen’s tango hummed while plaiting my frays into braids, taming my beasts with her unguents and song The music of her sonar A reverberation of blood-love Clara, Clara… her name was…

The Accidental Onist (NaPoWriMo Day 17)

Everyone wants to be interesting, not me. I am boring as fuck and I like me that way. Don’t have to worry about what I’ll say because I know I’ll elicit yawns all day. Exulansis is my middle name. I have long since given up trying to talk about anything to anyone; it’s like people…

Betty In Her Attic

    Betty stood cowering in the attic corner, her ear pressed splat against the bare wall surface, listening… with trembling index finger hovered over the record button of her iPhone, feeling a bit guilty for eavesdropping but so needing the easement the recording would eventually supply… You see, here is where the shadowed  whispered all…

What The San Francisco Almanac Doesn’t Tell You (NaPoWriMo Day 16)

  Weather is fickle here. Its pockets have pockets with rabbits and squirrels constantly flying out of them. Sometimes it’s a lollipop lick and other times it’s sour as a pickle. You will be basking in the glow of 75 degrees and sunshine without a breath of wind, with a good book as sunscreen; and…

Dualities (NaPoWriMo Day 15)

      She he Soft hard Pull push Dirt spade Hull seed Want done Bloom weed Dead alive Truth jive Can won’t Do don’t You me Hope flee Alone aloft Sought caught Drought flood Bought sold Lost won Ready waiting Love gone…                  And now for our…

San San Sails A Sampan Sans Sails (NaPoWriMo Day 14)

  Writing the pointless poem, the stricken poet strikes out yet another meaningless line the rhyme has no reason, the reason no season The stricken poet didn’t know it but her pointless poem helped to define the lack of reason in the existence of time The stricken poet’s pointless poem a type of treason whose…

So Mutable A Thing Is None

    You who lived in my ancestral Thebes – buried in my tumulus, both of us inundated by the same Nile that bleeds its clay – look past the last day; see what we were and what we have yet to become. You expect too much, yet want so little. I expect so little,…

When Orpheus Croons Every Moon in June Blooms

    It’s not leaving if you never intended to stay. Where are you now, boy? It’s the Spring, you know. It’s too late to die for Eurydice, but Persephone will be back soon… She’ll leave the pomegranate seeds behind, this time. I want you to tell me all you know you don’t know. Don’t…

A Prayer For Archimedes (Fortune Cookies: Day 13 of NaPoWriMo)

The pinwheel spirals time into white blur and ink blots. You try to square the circle measuring infinity in the sum of lines impossible to draw, but you’ll cross them anyway. Your cup of borrowed sugar cemented with water and starch. Your hands full of papercuts. Codexes are created and broken in streaming visions of…

Cultural Indices of Late Antiquity: A Guide (Day 12 of NaPoWriMo)

  Asceticism, 204, 317 See also: Antinomianism; Angels in iconography Aphrodisias; Arab; Athens; Aphrahat, Basil of Caesarea, Barbarians and Ethnicity Constantine; Conversion; Dendrites; Dietary Restrictions; Doctrines of Tatian; Empire Building Encratites; Eznik of Koghb; Festivals; Food; Holy Fools; God; Habitat; Himierius; Islam; Images; John of Antioch; Julian The Apostate; Kalends of January Marriage; Martyrs; Mazdakism;…

Leavenworth Ave. (Day 11 of NaPoWriMo)

  It’s the magic hour. Signs of serendipity everywhere Jasmine perfumes the air The sky is a wash of blue gouache A lazing sun dangles its ease just at tree level. The wild parakeets of Telegraph Hill squawk green thunder as they fly by. Shadows samba on the sidewalk with the trees, laughing at all…

Spontaneous Order (Day 10 for NaPoWriMo)

Strong opinions on the heights of despair Exotic pleasures without end; the true believer always slouching toward Bethlehem. Waiting for Godot under the jaguar sun is Mr. Palomar cascando the sense of an ending… White noise and notes from underground sound the great dream of Heaven – an infinite jest closes the gates: dynamics of…

Frangible (Day 9 of NaPoWriMo)

      The break, when it happens, will come through fission Spiders will crack through you You’ll talk of your ambitions You’ll take another slug Out of the bottle, your smile Will be wearing you inside out But you won’t feel me pulling your reins, you won’t hear my whispered incantations, the crunch crunch…

The Calla Lilies Are In Bloom Again (Day 8 of NaPoWriMo)

It’s my time… April has opened her garden gates wide. Earth, sun and sky – magically recombine, and I’m finally happy, ridiculously happy, to be here, to be so alive. Streams, ponds, and riverbanks always accepted my kind’s messy sprawl; but no man ever laid his hand on me until you came along… Crissy Field……

…became a poet named Manny on Facebook <3 <3 <3 (Day 7 of NaPoWriMo)

  “A man is likely to mind his own business when it is worth minding. When it is not, he takes his mind off his own meaningless affairs by minding other people’s business. This minding of other people’s business expresses itself in gossip, snooping and meddling, and also in feverish interest in communal, national, and…

Breaking The Fast (Day 6 of NaPoWriMo)

    Juice ruins the front of my new shirt as I bite into taut skin and sweet flesh. I keep eating because I don’t care. It’s apricot season, and good apricots are rare here. Apricot pits are poisonous. Did you know that? But they look just like almonds when you peel them. How can…

The Cultural Mandate (Day 5 of NaPoWriMo)

  “Be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in the earth…” may have been the genesis for her strange anatomies. Though, how it happened will never be truly known. She was in the garden under the cathedral eaves of a Golden Transparent Gage tree. Taking shade, after much needed respite from deleting tasteless text…

Novembercide (Day 4 of NaPoWriM0 )

  The moon fell heavy with burden Cradling the shadow of a skeletal sun Stumbling unto horizon’s shore Her ship scuttled under the wreckage Her anvil heart broken A gossamer sadness hardened mist to knifepoint piercing the sky with the knowing look from the liquid eyes of Maya’s lost children “What will I tell my…

A Letter From Hillary To Adolf With <3 (Day 3 of NaPoWriMo)

“Half the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don’t mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them. Or they do not see it, or they justify it. Because they are absorbed in the endless struggle to think well of themselves.’  ~T.S….

April Showers Bring May Flowers: NaPoWriMo Day 2

    I was 10, my brother was 8. We’d spent our lives up until then trying to survive my mother. Her screeched “You’re going to be just like your father” was the prelude to her concerto of fists pummeling his little body. I had no control over her, but this I could handle. I…

Circle of Fifths: A Lune for NaPoWriMo

  The wind calls to me I listen palms against window I’m sunlight suffused my eyes close circle meets circle           NaPoWriMo prompt: write a lune. Robert Kelly is the American poet credited with creating the lune. He felt haikus were too long and clunky in English. To be honest, I am…

Tone Deaf

  Words rattle around Dean’s skull-cage like God’s dice, except God doesn’t shoot crap because He knows there’s no such thing as a Cinderella story, that you can’t buy a 14 karat gold watch for 10 dollars, and the house always wins. Besides, God takes His cut off the top, like every other bookie, but…

Friends, Facebookers, and Trolligans,

  “…when dogma enters the brain, all intellectual activity ceases. ” ~R.A.W.   Allow me to pontificate on all that you are not, because negative is the new positive which was the old orange which was the new black before black was beautiful, but now it is again. And so it goes. In case you…

Damocles

  I want him to go and he senses my need for him to leave, so he stubbornly stays, delaying his exit taunting me, sipping his coffee in its stainless steel to-go container “I’m leaving soon.” 10 minutes, 20 minutes, an hour He’s humming the same tuneless tune “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” I…

… burdened.

  I And somehow beauty had become banal, and love anathema, and only the hideous and hateful were considered worthy of art. Gravitas became synonymous with misanthropy. Blessed were the sociopaths for theirs was the kingdom and the power and the glory of critical acclaim. It was at this point I decided to cut off…

Logic ends where faith begins.

  Logic ends where faith begins. Fingers intertwine, hand meets hand but complete understanding seems always a few steps behind–rounding corners, stepping on cracks wondering how many mothers’ backs were broken by these hard pavements: with grief, with work, with fear for their children’s children. Is religion the problem or merely the symptom? Heaven has…

I Rode to the Desert on a Man With No Name

  There are writers who like to take their words and cut them to the bone, splice them to the marrow, remove that and leave only a hollow encasing, so that it might ring sweet its truest truth when struck by the hammer of Time. Yet there are still others that wish to blur those…

Friday’s Child

A man walked. A hill was climbed. People followed, watching him tow the world. The red dust settled; the sun sunk, in sanguineous hues.The albatross dangling from the man’s neck was not his to wear, but he bore its cross, secured by nails hammered into the open palms he proffered us, the thorns of his…

The Dreamer

  She had joie de vivre. Or so he said… A certain effervescent way of looking at life that made her world seem to him like it streamed champagne. She took a nail file to all the jagged edges of those who threatened to scratch and rake the porcelain of her fair skin, Smoothing them…

Windowed

    He doesn’t even have the will to grey away. He unstitches reality one smoke ring at a time His bulk framed against the white blight of a west-facing wall in three rooms of gloom Tired bones no longer support his dandelion head his back snaps as all his wishes wilt on their stems,…

Words are loaded.

  Dynamite sticks or a grifter’s dice? It doesn’t much matter does it? Either way their heaviness imposes itself upon you. I get so tired of extracting meaning from a flavorless pulp. Is it right? Is it art? Is it real? What the fuck is real? Who can judge what lies in the wake of…

The land of moment giving itself up to seek out.

    My computer is subconscious. It is a vacuum, sucking all the same intent through trap doors. It is where I tried to imagine the musical and I wound myself upon a set of pins placed on this revolving disc to pluck the tuned teeth of a steel comb, but the lamellae only shrieked…