About nothing
Sitting down in the wet sand.
The last light of day turns the horizon into an agitated pool of fire that spreads from east to west.
Has god ever had a question for anyone?
No wonder babies come crying into the world.
Why is air an acquired taste?
Sure your mom is sweet, but who was she at 17?
Everyone’s thought of murder once or twice.
Shouldn’t an empty canvas be black instead of white?
Either way, who’s to say what a cat really thinks?
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About nothing
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Lament
Flaming thoughts of sacred infractions,
Delicate lines of a spider’s thread,
Milk pale phantoms of familiar conformations,
Vast libraries of words unsaid.
Liquid night, foreign and odd,
As color draining from the face of God.
Where now is the bright gaze, and the smile burning?
Warm sinews of fabled strength never returning?
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Lament
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Rock Lined Pockets
See the alarm in the shark’s cadence,
Hear the sharp seagull’s cry:
The merling king has come! The merling king has come!
Jellyfish floating around his cloudy crystal crown
Like translucent passive thoughts of aggression.
Will he forgive your primate indiscretion?
In his court of slime and rock sublime
He beckons you with open tentacles
to join his circle of hedonistic companions.
The mermaid is a murderous creature.
The dolphins are wanton and wild.
What’s that in your pockets? The inquisitive mollusk asks.
Rocks.
Of the precious kind?
No.
His soft limbs curl back in plain disappointment.
From under a shell a faint voice cautioned,
Do not trust in the soft bodied rogue’s trade.
Down here the written word is as fleeting as the spoken one.
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Rock Lined Pockets
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