Thursday, April 09, 2009

photo by Buzz


For Linda


Pulse to pulse
Poet to healer:

Page after page,
We turn.

Heal me, poet
For I have sinned

I’m a failed metaphor -
Mixed and confused,

Dangling with wronged participles
Unmodified in contraction.

Scribe me the ways of your
Commas and apostrophes

To pluck the thorn from my i ; wrench
The wretched semi-colon from my guts.

Not to misspell my hyperbole,
For willy-nilly we writ

The run-on sentence of children
While wee infinitives split.

photo by Buzz


You were the hottest
Haiku I can imagine
Drawn from pause in flame.

The pulse is our meter & our meter
Has been running a very long time.

Sly simile turned my phrase.
We scrambled up some um^lauts,

Sowed our Tao like synonyms
Tilde’d at windmills, too.

Backspacing speedbumps
Idylling through question marks.

Monkey business froze that rime,
Gibberish spoke no sense

Red ink, a sober wine,
Drunk a deadened tense.


My spine, your heart
Torn by paper.

Hollow bones hold heartbeat,
Knead dough for Lobo’s crust

His scratch bleeds your pockets,
Renders hole in trust

Two hobos pay their freight,
Tender gold from dust.

The quatrain’s left the station.
We’ll lay tracks again maƱana

Tin spoons spin smooth in coffee,
Stir some mojo from that cup.

Coyotes cleared out henhouse:
Twenty years ain’t near enough.


Days stream the scroll,
By night we crease time

Verse etches water,
Wave into word into light

Shadows rhythm silence
Echo ribbons sea

Ripples riff
Through the tide

Pulse to pulse
You meet me.


photo by Buzz