Wink Me Into That Obsidian Night

01e2defc-45fd-46de-86d8-b12553a1f189Frogs announce it’s bath-time,
but Time and Space are just bad habits
when I take off my robe
to dip into the cosmic hot springs

To ease my wrinkled mind
and wash off all that debris
that’s collected around my eyes and ears
since this morning
when I was a just a baby
so innocent and bright-eyed
and full of dreams

And I settle in for a bedtime story-
Which is it this time,
the one about the trickster thief
who saved the world
or the one about the drunken saint
who broke a thousand hearts?

The dirt and the moon argue
over who loves me more
and the owls and moon take turns
tucking me in
with their lullabies—
winking me into that obsidian night
where threads of dreamcloth weave themselves
around my naked mind

Until once again I awake a newborn
Tossing fresh songs into the sky



D0344CB9-C436-4BFE-82CD-6C82F83B65CDWhen that hard marble hits you
from within
in the day or darkish sky
open a nearby window
or even dare to walk the shore of night.

Pick up a tree
and set it against the horizon

letting it hover there
until the sun’s removed
and see the shape it makes
silhouetted against the moon.

Then observe what shape your body takes as you climb the canopy
with your prehensile heart.

Make some animal movement
and with guttural joy or grief
or an unknown, unpartitioned yelp

volley that fucking marble towards the distance shore
letting it be known to all,
including yourself,
you are alive!

The Moon Has a Long Memory

D804C643-2D73-475F-9C19-A33FC1F67128Welcome dark
in unpursed lips singing
forget the day
all pale doing

of center night
and darklish wooing
lay its leaping skin
around you

Deep nocturnal breath abiding
blowing skirt of darkness hiding

The moon has a long memory
and hasn’t forgotten your true name

It is mere habit to shrink
when the sun sinks

Have you tried standing up
and meeting the gaze of the Swordsman
when he asks you what luster’s tucked under
your supernova skin?

Have you considered lifting the lid
off your day-time self
stitched tight oh too tight and oh—-

Or are you only a lover of butterflies
despiser of bats?
One of the half-time lovers of the world?

Then by all means, bless your mangled life
half-bitten and hungry

If not, pour pitch black down your poor back
and feel your arch grow

The moon has a long memory
and hasn’t forgotten your name—
the one you uttered so assuredly
back in the season of jumping
before the great gremlins of approval
stole it from you
under the fog of forgetting

Be big with midnight
and tempt the stars out
with cheshire desire

Behold, some belly bold
cries your full name from the old
deeplier than ever told
Perhaps it is your own

Welcome dark
in unpursed lips singing
forget the day
all pale doing

of center night
and darklish wooing
lay its leaping skin
around you

Unscrew Yourself From the Doorjamb Night

136303AD-6465-46DF-9C55-0C262C73D61CI’ll tell you how the long day ends
in the final hour of June, she said

with her kaleidoscopic coyote laugh
and crook-eyed cricket gaze

she sipped her nightcap hot and holy
in her ripped and airy lilac gown

aiming cat-tails towards venus west
after sun had bolted down

full moon me, she said, with glee
whipping watermelons wild
inside rhubard ribbons racing
lacing up the vest of night

then offering peaches bruised just right
brewed up nicely for bruised hearts
led early plums with early stars
to come out playing without a fight

spiraling moon and madly mars
around the skinny of her scar

I’m not the dream you thought you had
she sang with all her lovely fangs

roam free, roam wide
throw the damned doors aside
unscrew yourself from doorjamb nights

was the last thing to me she said
before the month of June had fled

Last Glimpse of May

sandSand flies are silent but persistent
wanting something on the inside
of my skull

Fortunately, I have legs
that give me a slight height advantage
and a spine that pivots my head
towards Venus in the heart of Gemini
already gazing searchingly at me
inches above Sunday’s goodbye.

The sand is no less a bed
for not having cost a month’s salary
at that store people love to talk about
and the willows no less a backyard
for not owning it

big hard rocks are great
for building houses
but tiny, soft rocks are better
for sleeping on

and has the built in feature
of containing ancient crystals
the color of nautical dusk
and blue glass
and I swear a little bit o’ Mars.

Venus is even hotter
than fire season in the central valley

but that doesn’t prevent crickets
and plovers from swapping bedtime stories
and crying onomatopoeically
for their version of what happened

and while the river spills
into and out of the arms of Venus

a satellite and a jackrabbit slide by—
last glimpse of May.

Through the Iris Eye-womb of the Night

IMG_1433The sun is in need
of your wakefulness

He’s gone far, far away
and sometimes forgets the orbic path

Drink him into your body
as the wink of the crescent moon
through the iris
eye-womb of the night

Feed your thirsty eyes with the
throbbing midnight brightness around you

Slake your thirsty ears
with the sound of the universe flowing through you
in the dark

How else will he reach the big sea
on the other side
and raise the flag of his mighty ship in the morning?