Descending From Cain
Even by sight or breeze
of my open window, I know not
if this is a summer or a winter
No season reborn for the man in wait
Beggars want wine and coins,
not postcards
They slur their poetry, tattoo their mark
on the softer man,
suffer and fall away
What is made of man, if not fool
For man is sacrifice
Man hears the heart bells but does not know them
Man seeks courage in displeasure
as the shepherd of guilt
or a thief who’s only option is the dark
They struggle in a gardenless bloom,
suffer, and fall away
There is nothing more to sleep
but to sleep
The Remains Of Purpose
It’s a fundamental sin -
the thought that rivers to your hands
There is no shame or apology
for the living
or a quote
When we die we die alive
And every Spring the rains will come
to pull us on toward delusion
At the Shepherd’s watch
less a balance between
faith
and
instinct
than a division of
what I know
from
a clay beggar’s bowl of graceful prayers
and a mat of simple straw
She to wake me eager of tip and tongue
all at the risk of desiring
what would drown the heartier man
She rises
having held my hand to myth
She rises
with flesh as perfect as the feathers that shape the swan
She rises She rises
soon to tea, soon to morning’s confessional
soon to whistle
She rises
to a feral light
in which no smile can dim
She rises unabridged, she rises gilded
She rises in the quell of yesterday
She rises having stolen the rain
Rising as that blameless thief
She rises She rises
She moves to what will move me
She has led me to where she goes
Should it happen dreams pull me again from her:
Bite at this heart ‘neath naked breast
Plum Solace
Let memories share
in what they cannot answer
bringing forth what is left
to the back of the mind
A child
gone lone to the grove
beneath trees with dense branches
that the sunlight barely breaks through
where wind cannot
and just enough to illuminate shadows of this youth
taking in the perfume of the nectar
dripped to the ground
in mindful breathes
Singing rhymes to the dream of love
Kneeling to the fixed ground
Balanced prayers for dignity
and the lastings of youth
and in a final naive wonder
takes a bite of the sweet fruit
to cut the agony of becoming a man
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