Summer rains are so easy to forgive
Not a hindrance, but worn as an accessory for the evening.
A soothing pitter-patter on the windshield
A slightly inconvenient sprinkling that only adds more character to the night.
Or a welcome gift to our lawns and gardens:
The hallelujah afternoon downpour:
All watered and cooled–
the air fresh with verdure and petrichor;
A passing spell,
The whisper of Nature’s mercy,
A moment of weakness in the heavens,
A minor fracture in the sky,
A brief, cathartic sob
We receive with tempered joy–
Summer rains are so easily forgiven.
I once had a sacred friend—
we worshiped at the altar of whatever was on tap.
Next to a stony fireside;
we sat in pews of cherry wood barstools.
To read dead poet sermons—
scripture that told us how
And how we should feel
About each other.
Split-second decisions are full of lard and MSG and high-fructose corn syrup:
It’s calling you,
It’s saying yes,
It’s saying no,
I carry their weight for years and years
But no exercise regimen seems to exorcise the guilt compacted in me,
tumor-like, hanging from my bones
One idea disguised as inspiration or revelation or a stroke of genius
will be the last to leave me, stored in my gut,
my lifelong hangover,
my tattooed asymptote.
A page, some musty
paragraphic incisions of ink
This book, near spineless
swirling grey in a flurry of think
It’s been published by MSU Denver’s Metrosphere, and I think many of my friends have seen it already… but I thought I’d put it up here on the b-log. My 16 line (kinda Shakespearean but, yeah 16 line) sonnet, Your Haunting Quietude:
Your Haunting Quietude
Suspended in your haunting quietude,
I make haste to fill silence with thought.
Inebriated by some thirst to brood,
So quickly I fragment that sacred naught.
The space where nothing passes between lips,
Where no articulation could resound…
A moment shrouded in the silv’ry mist
of clear perception, hov’ring over ground.
The present makes an elegant collapse
of motions retrograde and onward push.
It falls into itself, a whispered gasp
Just like a starry death, implosion’s rush.
Yet here do I fall victim to the stream
of mental chatter, the insufferably inane…
as certain as soliloquy may seem,
I pause that rogue procession and refrain…
Then you smile politely, start to speak
Completely unaware of what you break.