Fremont (4/19)

Pink child-sized fingerprints of spring
stick petulant to the small red speed of the Mazda Miata.
The rain will ambush you,
even if you hide your convertible beneath the trees.

River Stone Physics

Our lungs come together like river stones.

We make smooth sounds against summer’s dying breath.
this is my season.
I shift gravity around in my body
use my tongue to press down the constants of the universe.

Gravity pools half-arbitrary
in nooks and bends of my body.
Forces begin to course and flurry
catching in eddies behind elbows and knees.
And now I feel it
the wind pulling off my kneecaps
as light as rose petals.
I am not ash I am just power.
A body of power coursing.
Autumn rivers overrun their casings.
I am a cask of physics overrun and running amok.
Afraid my limbs & fingers & appendages
might just start breaking off softly,
floating up to the ceiling fan.

I am afraid that the bends in my capillaries are becoming round and heavy like lumps of mercury
I feel their weight perforate my skin
and burrow into the mattress.
Thrilling fears push it even further
The separation of matter leaves holes burning in the sheets.
I might end a pile of gasping ashes.
The sheets pulled crooked on the bed.

I need you here
to hold down my wicked skin.
My heart is losing meaning
like a bullet burrowing through it’s backside
all the heavy parts are coiling together.
Say my name and anchor this body back to this world
smooth over the cracks you opened when you opened my mouth too far
You knocked my body off its axis,
You left my moons spinning and opening their eyes like hurricanes

Suddenly a rupture
and that deep-seated well of pelvic gravity was upended
thrown off kilter completely.

and I am floating.
with this river always within me.
When I die my descendant will rub river stones together and think of me.
My name will mean to them what is between the river and the rocks in the riverbelly.
My name will mean ripples in the air
and a cathedral of trees opening their lungs to winter.

Your mouth moved stillness into sound
Convinced me my body
is more than just a random series of kite strings:

“You are birds & church bells & early morning;
a crucible for compassionate action
I don't think you understand how big you are;
how filling the whole room you are"

back date #1 for me

Spring Dialog
The daffodils are gathering in down turned yellow gossip
crowding the forcibly slim
sidewalk trees.
Subliminal roots swallow the years
tickling up
jagged concrete smiles.


More Than Butterflies
Small flutters
start in the mouth of your aorta
and before you know it
you've got his smiles coursing through your veins.

January

In winter you hang springs and jewels from your listening.
The mechanism tightens
and the shivering sky takes a gulp of distinction.
The empty trees sharpen
like a woman's angry eye.
The air splits and spiders into cracks
and fluidity
(making the most of possible escapes)
rushes out of being.