Tag: dragonfly book

The week between
 heating and air–conditioning
when frogs whir and birds sing

Heaven might be found on a mountaintop;
we could be lost in the desert flats for all I care.
As long as the vehicle is cared for,
 we still have someplace to go.

I ate honey Os
until a voice bade me
attend to something.
I returned
to deliciously soggy Os;

I wait
for such soggy deliciousness
to recur.

Exposed to the numinous
 the hero ventures forth
 steeped in life
to return a warrior
 with the pearl
 exposed to the numinous

Sit!
Ah, martinette:
For your whip–smart crack–of–the–heels:
Well done. Here’s a pet.
And, Black, you hussy:
 with your delinquent, rebellious, impertinent leer
  for a pet without praise:
Very well.

Only when we are grown up
do we understand our innocence
is as beautiful as our savvy;
we leave that part out.

Hard to explain this blubbering
’mid forest woods
near silvery stream
tugged along
by black and blonde
dogs
hunting twixt moonbeams

It's hard to carry a tune
Some, singing from their youth,
 seem naturally talented
We are such picky receivers
Yet, what a delight when some song
 pushes our buttons
 over and over again
 playing ourselves
 back to ourselves
Winds up in a mystical collection
Yet no way to share with another
 the depth of its echoes through us
 the hidden–spot tickle of its touch
Agony unshared
A dread to share
As like it falls on deaf ears
 the horror of triggers missing in another
 the tip–top registers of our soul
And this some polished piece of painstaken production
How much more terrifying
 when we play ourselves
I trip along as the band plays on
 I might look queer, but I'm certain
 no one holds a candle to my music

First, the finding of the cloth:
 something to cling to
Then, the pulling, wondering:
 what will it lead to?
Then, an acceptance of its never–end
 and the assured fashioning
 clothes from its threads