Beg

Beg your beauty 

beg the sky

Beg your leg

break the line

storm cloud coming but it shall clear

and the blue sky

is the bright one

gleaming 

Shapeshifter

Coins and pickles both turn. 

They both shapeshift.

A pickle cannot become a cucumber again--

but a coin can keep going back and forth

as long as you like. 

Flying Fish

The jelly in the belly of the genie

shook when he laughed and asked me my wish

I longed to be a free riding soul

a flying fish.

How the Internet is Glowing

One of my goals is to be more political and more informed

but for now I will throw apples at trees

and then shoot a gun into the glass ceiling.

I will wonder about the war in Palestine

and the apartheid state but not for too long

because I have memes to make

about how progressive I am. 

My sarcasm will fall on deaf ears

stuffed with ear buds

and echo chambers.

Seance of Regret

Seances where ouija boards are drenched in wine and bread

laughing at the savage masks we wore upon our heads

Rage is paid for in advance it paves the weary road

where we walk across it with regret, our steady steady load. 

Politics

They are jailing the terrorists and straining to see

God among the trees

They are throwing stones at the bricks 

and bricks at the stones

Mud at the dirt and dirt at the mud

spitting through their teeth.

Rose or Time Bomb

It might take a genius to quell the Middle East 

are you one?

It might take a genius to stop the guns

are you one?

It might take a genius to bring the poor up

are you one?

It might take a genius to bring the rich to the mountain top of common sense

and the gurus to the seat of humility,

are you one?

Are you a genius, a guru, a poor man, a rich one?

Are you a gun or a stop sign?

A fist or a bed of nails?

A rose or a time bomb?

Lifting Your Spirit

Sour patch ruffle time tested misfit

gold hammered dunk tank hip cat flippant

So longer stronger red yellow blue rodeo

marching to sunset Wild West voodoo

Masterful meaning rhyme ribbon and fury

fists drenched in ink plastic Barbie doll broken 

long hair and dreadlocks stereo pumping 

like a gas tank

spilled all my alcohol

trying to lift your spirit.

The Speed of the Hem

I am noticing a theme in these recent poems 

They are talking about thread and waterfalls

as if I could sew up the movement of water. 

Maybe it's the same in the sense 

of how a hem can come undone. 

You pull the thread and it starts coming apart suddenly, by itself,

and so quickly you can't stop it. 

Yet it could also be about the taut line...

pull a piece of thread up and follow it with your eye.

Silence in the Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

There is a silence inside my mind.

I like it there. It's not like a Hindu temple, necessarily,

it's not like a monk's cave.

It's not like the inside of a mirror-sphere

or the envelope of a tear.

It's more like the canyon echo,

the waterfall rush where you can stand

underneath, behind the tumbling waters

and the rushing infinity

and not get wet.

I Am Caught

The fade is on fire the braid is on the head

of mine as I brush it out

it gets caught

I tried to revive it

like ant hills crawling up a piece of yarn

Refreshed

Refreshed in the breaking dam of my soul uncurled restless river spinning like wrought cast iron

handles spin, rusted but worn smooth canyon

how I love thee--Damn, OK, got you.

Take my knee my hand my fist

wrap it up in an angry kiss didn't you know

poison and perpetual motion go

hand in hand to the medicine land

where rabbits run to and fro

baby zebras zipping across the plains

chased by lions

once again you know

I held you in mind

half twisted like that wrought cast iron

a tiny flower peeking through the gates

stop don't make me wait

there's a giant river a waterfall about to fall over the edge

I'm in a raft

a small thing

a tiny kitten

a ball of string

fling me into Niagra Falls, baby.

Continuum

What is this business of excuses

of rainmakers and tidally winks

Lincoln Logs and Fred Flintstone

Red coats from Britain

and the long suffering narrator/

What is this business of ruffians

pirate plotting goose neck hobos

dream stopping kill switch gobstoppers

what is this renegade reaching

sorcerer continuum.

Restitution, Superstition, and Mercy Walk Into a Bar...

 8:59 PM

When Restitution's weary legs are bowed, and Superstition's wounded whispers call,

the blank checks that Mercy writes are uncashed, ten grizzly bears are growling in my hall.

Here all the polar opposites attract: becomes Gray: playing, spinning yin and yang 

between the Dusk and breaking light of Day:

Here I try but cannot tell the change slips. 

In Poetry, I'll hide from icy winds which blow through my thin coat and leave a chill.

I'll find the summertime inside my mind and reconnect with Dreams of my Free Will.