how wind plays with things:
oceans, prayer flags, roses,
and my salty smile
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Day 29: Anniversary
anniversary - originally the day of someone's death
We died for each other
we are one after all
and a divorce would be just one more anniversary
so let's not talk about it anymore.
anniversary - to turn
I have turned toward you
I have turned in to you
and a divorce would mean turning aside
So let's not talk about it anymore.
aaniversary - a returning
We keep turning, over and around
it will return, just as loving does
So let's talk anniversaries
anniversary - a celebration of grit
of turning on and turned on
turning the handle and turning around again
turn to me. Today, turn again to me.
We died for each other
we are one after all
and a divorce would be just one more anniversary
so let's not talk about it anymore.
anniversary - to turn
I have turned toward you
I have turned in to you
and a divorce would mean turning aside
So let's not talk about it anymore.
aaniversary - a returning
We keep turning, over and around
it will return, just as loving does
So let's talk anniversaries
anniversary - a celebration of grit
of turning on and turned on
turning the handle and turning around again
turn to me. Today, turn again to me.
Day 28: Three to Go
words from page 73 of the nearest book
dropping my mood from the indigo gloom to a rosier room
I, once incensed, now unfist the muscle of my mind and hesitantly find
a faint pulse line, a turquoise vein, dropping inspiration into stagnant pain
on the verge of a glow, from a well a creature waves, and I know
the face at the bottom looking up at my own is my own,and
I am the well, and I am the fine, and this face of mine is the questioning kind.
dropping my mood from the indigo gloom to a rosier room
I, once incensed, now unfist the muscle of my mind and hesitantly find
a faint pulse line, a turquoise vein, dropping inspiration into stagnant pain
on the verge of a glow, from a well a creature waves, and I know
the face at the bottom looking up at my own is my own,and
I am the well, and I am the fine, and this face of mine is the questioning kind.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Day 27: Waiting For the End of April
The bench, where lovers have met since lovers began,
and lovers write poems for lovers,
and time trades lovers for lovers,
and new lovers wait for their lovers,
the bench,
is half frozen.
Day 26: For Wu Singh
You, black time
you ghost of my thirties
you who whisper my name in nightmares
I don't love you anymore
swallow.
I love the colors of the fog on the water
and her hair in my hand in the middle of the night
you ghost of my thirties
you who whisper my name in nightmares
I don't love you anymore
swallow.
I love the colors of the fog on the water
and her hair in my hand in the middle of the night
Monday, April 23, 2012
Day 24: Indian Wells
"Writing is a way of saying you and the world have a chance." Richard Hugo
I look up into desert darkness
and bathe my lungs in native air
It's when the rocky bare
mountains are unseen that they're most beautiful.
I wonder if it's the same with me.
I look up into desert darkness
and bathe my lungs in native air
It's when the rocky bare
mountains are unseen that they're most beautiful.
I wonder if it's the same with me.
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