short edge of time when
sweet deepens begins to burn
turn in on itself

this echo amplifies

solace ectomized
from night's acute hours &
silence my scalpel

oh whipped wind linger
at these bed corners both my
windows left open

ineffable at best

office politics
so i am hackles raised &
all bite back today

an appealing cool
twists sweet & fermenting air
crisp impermanence

oh let me haunt these
ripe havens of half-leaved trees
a few weeks longer

grey short-hour days
push me up mountainsides &
pull me back to roots

full sick of shallow
steps so my stuck craw
searches challenge

for some wade
through thick mud
thigh-deep problems

desperate bootpulls
of a focused real & just
most necessary work

drowned in
depths of
daily drudgery

forty-five degrees
through blinds blissful cold but then
housemate cranks furnace

i want bared-teeth wind
to be buried in blankets
one bare foot stuck out

farewell to crickets
east wind chases them off through
all these aspen leaves

one of those can't sleep
so maybe i'll just go for
a drive kind of nights

or, y'know, just dick
around in notebooks & post
these improv haiku

lost in a lamentation
of foliage i'm over-
looked & observe men
play chess under willows

or do all timers pause
all players take notice

play don't stop say i
a bit too breathless

woman yes i watch so
proceed with queen you rook
to bishop beyond willows
& i've drawn countenance

this deepened
gnaw for
plain roots

after everyone’s
transient tendrils
tie me down

constrict & all
my sunlight's
eaten in leaves
of green lust

after i'm left choked
out overgrown &
shadow withering

so let me look & leave
you all unsettled i

tuck your "intimidating"
into my skirt pocket a
new favorite modifier lets
gladly swap epithets

for now i am otherworldly
& vaguely threatening

you're too
intimidating
to be cute

he says

your face
never hides
that it knows
too much

& i hate to
be so seen
through

but'll
stick around
anyway

that corner
of your mouth
says i seem to
amuse you

alien thing

a life avoided

hold being
like breath &
navigate a rush

from holes to hours
to headspaces to
these tiny hermitages

i carve & create for
deliberate solitude

thirty odd years
& still incapable
of feel it all
less

no liberation

existence's
persistent pummeling
of all my senses

oh these
everyday
oblivions
of being

don't we
all need
a little
illusion
to live

he cried the way
he used to laugh

a life in facets
of being truest
to my emotions

gps of instinct

cycles of solitude
& a whimsical
capriciousness

company kept with
myself in lieu of
meagre constructs

why is it
such a
herculean
effort for
others to

let you feel
through
your feelings

instead of
endless
attempts
at redirect

what growth
or progress
ever happens
when we're
comfortable

i find
though
he says

morality
gets boring
quickly & to be

boring is the
ultimate
sin

flitters between
exploding silence

a casual line
dropped
to perhaps
plumb fathoms
of demeanor

struck instead
resounding
chords with
that deep
inside myself

though tucked
in pockets
i knew at once
he talked
with his hands

nightwrestle
chimaeras
& only these
feathers
for proof

aflame wandering
coastlines of trepidation

i am ash
upon reentry

today dark wind-
blown & alive

particulates
of quiet
expectation

crumpled
page erase
& try again

don't talk about it
they say it'll
go away

but that
does things

makes vines

creep secrets
over all your
inner walls

no lie is true
enough when
your liar lies
to you

thunder & all my
windows open
worth a wet sill

detail & stopping
orbit beyond us earth stills
we are the spinning

ride that validation
of a deep exhale

he looks at me
like i'm late
but
he's not all
that mad about it

in fact
he needs me
in the kitchen

wants to show
me the pantry
& i slow go
glimpse

warhol shadows
in stacks at his
shoulder

oh campbell's
oh chicken
noodle
soup

erratic divisions
we talk in
kandinsky lines

knifered accents
tonguetip proof

of paths my thought
is jumping

only now
can you ride
truth nonplussed

as if it bit you
as if you plead
your ravages

or had you really
caught ripples afloat

plotted folds while
a red slice
of silence cuts

you're losses

a crouch compass
spun in on itself

a dashed dream
a not-image
of an age ago's
imagining

stuck indecision
& tiptoe nosetip
skirted edges

what selfish things
i must keep to myself

the leaves are falling,
falling as if from far off

how many miles is
a few months ago?
necessity looks
back often on

an autumn i
used to be

no longer chloro-
phylled i'd watch her
blow away in
reams of brown oak

& red maple
paper

all i want at work
whilst chained to this desk is a
nap & a wander

autumn races up
fire-ravaged mountains to
linger red & gold

closeness
so carefully
devoured

these breaths drawn
deep against the back
of seconds

drawn
perceptions
these
paper wounds

fingertip delicate lights
inside our hands braid
his strands between
memory & moment

always haunting
libraries when it's
too dark to read

some
thing
to be said

for a
wended
way

back to
your own
bed