Bright dot unnatural

flourescent

diadems

this tiny caterpillar's head.

Eight ten twelve feet

perambulate

my legs

in search of Spring's

intangibles.

Thrown off,

persistently returning,

my stranger guest

surveys

my outstretched fingertips,

The measuring mystery of God's plenitude.

* * * * *

Wisconsin Motherboard

The motherboard Wisconsin

lies like sugar chips

refrigerated

underneath death angel's eyes.

Streams circuitous umbilical

transformers of the solar impulse,

rowing corn stalks

ledger out their last year's labor.

She black and white

still,

cold,

disconnected,

Waits

to have her memory charged

with Spring.

 

 

* * * * *

Last night

they broke the back of summer,

stripped with whiteling

darkling sobs.

The storm in clearing

brought the walnuts down

where squirrels put the winter

in their jaws

beneath the sheltering leaves

now turned to rainbows in applause.

 

* * * * *

Waiting in Winter

Waiting for each drop to fall

I

only mouth

with hands

surrounding eyes

reflecting clouds

Sing swallows in the icicles

until the crystal cracks

in tongues

and floods

the desert of my hope.

 

* * * * *

Worm Wonders

What's wrong with worms?

Well deep in the dung

With uncivilized leisure

They wriggle in pleasure,

Get looped in their treasure;

In darkness contrive

With each other to writhe

And produce in their coil

A field of soil,

Foundation for living.

* * * * *

Bits of shattered helmet

grave grassy by the way.

Ciphers of a rubout

streak the concrete slab.

A crippled visor

shadows ants oblivious

Who barely see

why people ever die.

 

* * * * *

Frost upon the kudzu

buries brown

the steamy soul

that summers in

great bright green leaves.

Crusted in sequins

fingers sleep,

lie numb

upon the bosom,

wait for snow

to turn

to milk.

*  *  *  *

You warty willow,

burl infested,

bulbous flank with knots congested,

Tell us now

what grievous war

made torture of your spine?

What insect, mite, or germ

set household up against your blood?

Did you now, your trunk molested,

twist to fend offensive foil,

or were you only overgushed

by river's endless stream?

Are these sweet breasts adored by gnomes,

or are they temper's testaments?

So sleek your limbs,

so gnarled your toes,

you lift our life 

upon your aged knees.

* * * * *

June plowed under

reaps September,

hope accomplished fructifies

in fallow furrowed earth.

Life recovered infantile

finds seedling importunity

insisting

steadily

against December's dearth,

All time is in the green grown ground.

* * * *

 Close Window