The dark heart

The trees speak loudest
in the early morning,
when thirsts are quenched
and the years pour out -
just weddings and moods
stretched in rippling order.
At night, all becomes tribal
and they dance a strange,
disorderly melody, motionless
as they rend the blazing air.
The seams of the universe
come apart, portals open
in streaks of cold, yellow fire.
It's all cold from this far away.
It's all just wishes, make believe.
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Been reading lots of good things lately:

From the first issue of Cloud Rodeo, two poems from Quinn White.

Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco nailed it in the newest issue of decomP.

My friend Zach is doing good things - this is one of them.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
OK Go, White Knuckles

Dealing with it

Done. Eyes like
ghosts of
a shattered bottle,
drunk and discarded,

taped loosely
to reality, no stronger
than a dead leaf
gripping a windshield.

The sun is back
by the time he leaves,
anchor chain cut,
adrift on pavement,

his constitution
bound together
with fading,
fraying bandages,

his past like
an old war wound,
a howling twinge
in every rainstorm.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Paul Simon, Hurricane Eye

Hey, slow down

painting by Brad Kunkle

In the dark it's all contrast,
blacks and whites stand stark, apart,
ready for the race to begin.

At the gunshot they run
and the stripes flash like ants on the screen,
a dance we invented ourselves.

Thoughts swarm, eyes swarm,
blinking pestilence ready for a place to land -
wherever the blood spills.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Glasser, Apply

Chewing gum, volumes 1 and 2

Vol. 1:
We're stuck to
the underside of
everything, on
sidewalks and on
things you've built, over
businessmen walking into
storefronts and above
letters on signs about
sensitive subjects.

If it pleases you, 

scrape us free.

Vol. 2:
My tool is an amalgam of anxieties,
a hard steel no medication may chip
and no consultation may bend or weaken.
It is of some comfort, to be truthful,
knowing I am capable of such creation
and that such creation may last the day.

As convictions go, theirs could be stronger,
a brief clinging hope that fastens them
to bulkheads and armatures, to joists and
to ancient keystones - but my tool knows
that their better impulses are suppressed,
and that just a little elbow grease may pry them.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Shad, Flying Colours Promo (mind = blown...read the lyrics while you listen)