for christmas eves

syrup love

For, PLaNETS

They writhe and they wave
like starfish to be seen
only when they are noticed.

They sing and it's as close to delicate as they have found,
making the strain to be an angel
something you might recognize.

Run wild into the parking lot
with your name on a banner, it's a dare.

Have you shared your secret yet?

     
It doesn't take much
to be a part of a movement.
to dance is a safe passage through it.

Check your pockets for your phone 
it calls you to wonder if -this time- 

we are talking to you.
      

In the dark woods the Troubadours share
They sing waltzes with shadows,
skip stones on a green mist of air

They sing life to the bright waves.
Waves upon waves, blood scribes a plot
twisted their wrung out pages, clearly for all who can see.

It doesn't take much
to be a part of a movement.
to dance is a safe passage through.

Check your pockets for your phone
it calls you to wonder if -this time-
we are talking straight to you.

...

Riptide

We've been swept out.

I can't keep kicking.

Along the Shore, shaky kissers turn their backs on an empty night.

They don't know we're out here.

There is a path to walk at the bottom:

a deep aqua almost pink corridor.

there are candle bugs on the floor

round and ripe paving a new horizon.

The ocean breathes with harmonium lungs.

There is a vine of water lilies strong enough to tug

if tugging were a railing made to Grace.

No shoes.

When you saw my eyes had receded

you took them off. 

You took yours off too.

You see things only a few pictures above me

and ahead.

You say we are like the silk now,

lining a soft stone path to the center of the sea.

I believe you.

A winter alto sings like she's lost something.

There is a glow.
Low dissolving notes.

words spoken and sung on the First Friday of 2013

Week 10

You said to never leave a cold glass un-coastered,
and this whiskey condensation's sure to leave a mark.

A reminder of promises' suicide.

Your crying eyes called for retraction

And I always wanted to be a runaway

so I ran till you couldn't hear the angels in my voice no more.

Cross country hitch-lust hike affair.

Touched a screw as I passed through all the state lines,

like we used to. 

In Topeka I made friends with a mailman. 

His name was Gary, 

Told me his daughter looked just like me.

That he hadn't heard from her in years.

In Terre Haute I saw your neck.

Someone else was wearing it.

And they didn't have it on right.

I bought forever stamps at the last post office
before passing through Warsaw, 

Because I made you something
And thought you out to have it
But before I could fold the coffee filter hearts into the snow pattern

I threw up.

So I mailed you that instead.

...

Week 11

The night you first saw me

you held my face.

We were whole. We were high. We were new.

Come over. 

 The night stopped. 

I've made a mistake.

It's probable that i will drown. 

Come over, 

the water's dark,

I've got everything lit.

The wax, it slowly drips down. 

I'm waist deep in Om's Lake

with her Indiana moon.
By the pontoon.

The grey suit 

I've spent nights
watching you shift shapes,
delving deep into the globe of your face
recalculating vocal variances.

You're ancestors must have tamed something wild,
for when the fur of your face comes close
it holds a growl.  

I want your mouth around my neck.
Carry me to your den. 
make me one of you. 

Land body-kisses that dip teeth to taste
one single birthmark hip.
Can't hardly see it with this lighting.
Hand sockets full of lush.
        ...
The grey suit you folded last shifted slightly during landing.

It fits better now.
Think of me when your arms go through it.
Play your heart out with a beggar. 

Let a gypsy read your palm.
And on your first cobbled night in Barcelona
when you see the red dress,
carry only spoken water.
Truth in a clear tenor promise. 

A softened drum.
Kindess to hush the wild hearts.

A cup of steam
for which the sailor's wife will take her tea.