RABBITS FOOT

My hands are filled with light.

I am able to touch objects and have

Them transform themselves from

My imagination into manifestations

Of radiance. Here a house

Rises from a small rabbit’s foot.

Here a road unrolls and stretches

Out from my desk all the way

To Atlanta. It is like magic.

It is like longing. It is like looking

At photographs and trying to make

Them blueprints for emotions.

There is no future in the past.

As we come closer to the moment

Veracity seems almost under our

Fingertips. The photograph is always

Less cluttered than the world.

I look at your photograph. I am happy

To be seeing you for a moment. My

Hands turn it over. There is white

Space, like snow, like this moment.

Nancy Gotthart send me some wonderful volcano photos here are a few of them

World of Waterfalls: An Emotive Journey

rainbows

Slips of the dervish and images

These images came from around the internet and struck me as unusual in both their content and locations.

INDUSTRY

I had an emotional bypass,

A valve job on my feelings.

Now I’m pure Teflon II.

Nothing sticks, nothing penetrates.

I have no reaction. Go ahead

Say something beyond description.

A white froth stays on my lips.

I am overcome by drugs generated in my glads.

Tears in my upholstery:

I’d like to give you something

Wonderful. I look for something

And go blind.

When these doors open

I expect love.

No reflection.

No models.

Sores in the heart

That won’t heal.

poem pictures

CLEAN LIVING

Dressed in fetish clothing

And hearing uncomfortably clearly.

I stretch a membrane of understanding

Across my eyes.

I will have no doubt the next time

I see your face.

I will find it easy to recognize the grace

Of misunderstanding you.

It will be like a perfectly sharpened

Knife.

My principles will fracture

Revealing all their petty foundations.

I will shake within the wall of language,

Waiting for a single pause where I might catch

My breath and identify my feeling

For you just this once.

There is no use.

I am smeared upon the words,

Barely able to buckle the straps

Around my body, barely able to attenuate

The vulnerable parts so they will gleam,

Terrifying, romantic in pure discourse.

a new poem and some random images just like I enjoy

HEADDRESSES

I suppose it was broken long before

We got here. There were rubber bands

Holding the wheels to the axles. The whole

Thing tipped and grumbled every time

It tried to do that walk it did.

Everyone still found it very entertaining.

Perhaps the questions it posed

Are unanswerable, like skeletons

Waiting by a windmill for the grass

To reveal the grim beast of the wood.

The forest listens to each leaf, each

Signature of love. It breaks the heart

To see the fields aflame like this,

but oh and oh and oh what

A wondrous view we have of heaven.

The swans. The clouds. The magnificent

Headdresses all comforted and astonished

That they are. We are forced to think

Of our mothers and when they finally

Showed us the great birds and

When we finally touched them

Any idea could be ours. The whole

Thing just clunked along like a good habit.