archive of dreams

there is you
archive of dreams
pen to paper, blue lines filled in script
murals of words from 1992
beginning, streaming
7am till end of day
you must have woke at three
or never slept

mechanics of midsummer
playing out in your head
behind and before
your eyes
indeed
you haven't slept

you're young yet
it doesn't show in your skin
in your hair, not felt in your hips

in 1992
what makes us old
before our time
hasn't been streamlined
scanned, publicized

only script tucked away
paper files, kept hidden
reserved for exploration
later
archived dreams,
from the road:

a rose for your name
Tamika's shack
backbone spine
van ride
where secrets are spilled
broken hearts mended;
choice is always yours
even as you jump from its doors.

In the Making - 2010

Gobble, gobble

wine and dine me:

big 'ole box of wine

orange buttermilk dinner rolls,

green bean casserole,

sweet potato pie -

Run, Turkey, run.

The Glory Hole

It is as if your mind is sharpened to the razor’s edge,

senses sharp, a fine point.

You can feel the crispness of autumn on your back,

at your peripheral is, mutually,

the blue sky and orange glow of the glory hole.

Your hand knows its path

(it should it’s followed it repetitively in practice),

and is working its way up slowly, slowly

to dislodge the plastic dinosaur from the sand.

Scattered around your knees

are the remnants of imprints

that came before the dinosaur:

Barbie’s head, a corroded piece of metal,

the slinky, a piece of bark.

Pieces to be forgotten, imprints to be filled

with molten glass, cooled, then on to bake in Super Freak.


This moment is not about what you have to do,

it is not about the next keystroke,

or what is to come -

It is about the sharpness of your senses and the steadiness of your hand.

time in coming

he'll write you love

letters from the attic
before he sneaks
down the steps
to catch a glimpse
of your world
the tween sketch comedy
absorption of days,
the deepset evening sky,

its thunderous doubt,
lightening strikes
absoluteness

you'll save love

letters composed of
song lyrics,
his kiss goodnight,
and in a moment of
weakness, you'll
retract, flush it all

but between your fingers,
folded in upon itself again,
read infinitely,
behind bold eyes
cross legged on the floor
in front of that old chest -

time in coming
will circle around
itself again

Henry

Forever playmate,
Mentor to the feral grey -
Loving spirit guide.

at the mumma's

there's this frog,

sitting on a plant,

sitting in the fountain,

staring at me,

posturing,

as flower petals fall

into my coffee cup.

Gossamer Moon

rises above our converted barn,
the farmhouse roof


ignites flames
in your eyes,
marries with
the bonfire
at our feet
as voices lift;


the future of PeaceCorps, CSAs,
homegrown local circles
of communion at once
drawn in the dirt.


Only a spark,
a pencil,
those ice cream stains,
a broken heart,
a marriage,
a child,
a bit of tie line,
or recycled flat

remains
of the last story.

Tonight, though -
a child alchemist
weaves, enchants
four legged quarks
into gold.


Voices rise
as we complicate,
disintegrate, break down
into soft giggles over spilled wine.


Eons earlier a climb,
the dreamgiver's dance
up scaffolding in dreadlocked blue.


Now around the fire,
soured remnants of glitter mix
with lager, lipstick -

a virgin will sleep beneath
the ghost light tonight.

Shifting scenes dissolve between
nightmares of fourteen hour days,


her smile, ringing laughter
after the first mosquito bite of summer;


a mug of rum around the bonfire,
the excitement of the child alchemist;

a spark,

a pencil,

those ice cream stains,

a broken heart,

a marriage,

a child,

a bit of tie line,

and recycled flat;

our rising
Gossamer Moon.

QUIP

signs on the road
Horse and Buggy, right
Christ's Home Office, to the left
Paradise Pre-Owned.

~

arrival
two white, single beds
a chair. White pages turning
among these white walls.

~

alarm clock
bacon to wake you
local greens sustain the soul,
prayer for the eating.

~

on the road
resilience in peace
slips by, seven hours past:
a petrified glen.

birthday wishes

in all this desire
uncertainty
i forget
balloons in the bathtub.

images of catastrophic
proportions
dance before
i can place myself asleep.

i awake in the worst
state of mind
angry and sick
until i think

New York in the Spring -

Mimosas at the window
a Broadway show
watching the tumblings
of spies in training

leaping over benches
coffee on the lake
rock band
making my way in the rain

riding the subway
you looked deep
"We could be in love"
"For a day"

Balloons in the bathtub until then.