I am a fly
dirtying what you’d keep pure
snapping my own head off with every cleaning
snap
I am a tiger
beaten and bested stripped of stripes
and met as tabby
snap
I am the snapping turtle
wiggling my bait in the mud
when your big proud foot comes stomping down

I lost you on the hanging shadow
cut my eyes left then right
cooked up words which tasted like dirt
not wanted to serve them
but as i spoil the ingredients
an ache loosens
i stir in sleep to wake
the soup is done
i call down the path
to everyone
to no one

I am round with promise
tickling the New goals under the chins
knowing I’ll have wrestled bears by the end of this
but for now they’re cute and paper
and manageable

A poem is a partial thing
a sometimes pretty bird with just one wing
a half formed wish
a horizon lifting setting
dropped by a reader
or unforgettable
i won’t ruin your fun by saying it’s not about you
of course it is
dear reader
blow the dandelion

put your hand on the sun
choose a direction and run

Morning sun pulses red and orange through the trees
and flickering eyes
through the window, heat

Where I’ve been
as the deep gray slides beneath me
and mess of trees blurs
I can’t hold

invisible the hours slip through
leaving their mark

Pure days
honeysuckle deeply drunk
a squatter violent glass rains down
keep walkin
down
down

Dreaming tinsel tunnel dreams
awakening in his arms
the smell of clean
sheets

today
remains an ever present
dream tickling the pessimistic
from their tunnels and tinsel

On eve of night
in darkest hour
Thou breaketh through as dawn
in all Thy holy accomplishment
man reaps reward from Thee, the Son

Rorschach breath on the glass
branch of veins- vision of vines
I’m alive I’m alive
in every dead tuft of grass

the mower keens once more before spring