april, afterwords

spring settles,
this air blooms with
blossom-scent.

trees & wind full
of petals, of pollen.
all my doors
& windows open.

a wellspring
from toes & nose
meets somewhere
in the middle, my
self is full,
is overflowing.

imagination and humour

The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.

Oscar Wilde

march

titanium shoulder
gristles in a loose socket.
i keep rolling it
to hear the noise
& feel the grind
unique to this shoulder
and me.

fresh ground sound
foreign objects
rub, catch on
tendons or cartilage
stop, skip, hit, pop

interesting sensation
skeletal reverberation

lately nights
i think i'd take back
the old shoulder
which was all me
it could move,
it just hurt to.

can't get comfy
in my sleep
my left arm keeps
going numb or just
aching. it feels so much
older & younger than me.

monday night
i'd get more done
if i was marooned
or at least moved
& onmyowning.

march you twist
time & weather &
i get caught
in the knots of you.
wrangle some
daytangles
different from the
usual strands.

you're unnecessary
& sink me.
kite line tight
breaks & i sit
in the sway
of dead grass, undoing.

shipwreck

sleep deprivation

winds me up in

other ways, 

slants my thought

processes

just so; just so

i see everything

from a slight tilt,

& sense abandons

current plateaus

for easy flow

to a lower plane.

today,

my body is a boat

half-sunk in 11 o'clock.

my head a last

escape of breath

in amorphous

ascent over

wreckage below.

but is it retreat

or just runaway?

a climb for the sake

of climbing.

silt clouds skirt

lower edges,

& then still,

remains creak

from pressure

& slow settling

in deep dark.