Black Rock City

yes
i like apples
but why talk fruit?
it’s the human form
walking across the desert
wearing a floral wreath
butter fly
wings on the back
apples – which
turn
into oranges
or
another form of fruit
shooting more
out
then down,
rather than round
crisp –
and the sun is high
while music
in the background plays
while a see thru
scarf, white
blows waist line
way side,
out onto the breeze
mixing dry
sand with
blue
sky.

no

let’s not discuss fruit
or dry skin,
but rather the
anticipation
of later evening
under
stars or under
a winter ceiling
where the
routine is normal
but
love is
cultivated and
necessary
and the water skin
is full
and home from the
river
is a more cobblestone
path……..

archaeological digs

automatic writing?
and lose what works
within?

automatic writing
aUtOmAtIc WrItInG
u
t
o
m
A
t
i
c

writing
automaticwriting
n
d
y
WaHrol

nonsense

around a group of chairs

perhaps
we
should climb out of each others wombs
stretch and yawn
born for the first time
when
we look again
at one
another

but rebirth is impossible
our sins
remain
the start over is
a fable

no

instead we grow further
stepping out of
what we once were
and accepting
the dance we once
upon a time
two-stepped

back in the boxing
ring
we move with
experience
and no longer needing
to be tigers
we move like
jaguars
our prowess has
been proven
and our movements
are well known

we will move as need be
but lashing out
is not an
option

the crowd is watching
but
the mechanism
tunes them
out

now

we are reborn
and we grow into
each other
the battle is over
and we can
move on

hands

together

blind faith

if there was a mountain
a hand
hovering in the clouds
i would
find the stairs
and climb into the white
mist
i would breathe oxygen
until there
was none,
and then climb on
faith
and die somewhere near
the top
-you can’t die,
unless you want to get
to heaven

you (i carry a jug of warm water and a clean cloth)

from the earth
you
were moulded and
became real
wet earth smeared
and caked
drying
flaking and peeling
to reveal the purity of
you –
owl feathers that grew
from and out
of scalp
turning out locks
of strands which would
curl around
your eyes-
in the shadows
the sun you baked
and dried out
silhouettes of welded
railings and barbed wire
graced
across your spine and
rib cage
reinforcing the strength
to handle the turning
of each
day-
and when you wake
i know i did not
create you
but
i pray you were made
for me
and hope i
was
made for you.

creature of the deep

caught in the fish
net
but not a
fish
pulled from the
ocean
struggling for air
breathing
what can not
be
breathed
fighting the nylon
lounging in struggle
against the steel
and the rivets
opposite of
a comfortable
display dancing
from a living
room sofa

TOSS HER BACK

toss it back

the slender the
muscles
need to relax and
swim
to the deep
where
space and water
can hide
and battle
leaving man to
wonder what he knows
less of

himself or
her

or what’s still out there

above him
and
below

close my eyes when he lands, so i don’t miss heaven

the endless plain
seen below
from
the wings of a white bird
arms spread wide
gliding
comparable only
if we
were to sit a while on
our garage roofs and
believe
the world below
does not exist

visualize the moment
and see yourself

i will put a bridle on this
bird

no

i will simply hold onto
some
feathers
and only close my eyes
when
the great bird does

the back roads home

sexy and murderous
leaving
the car with gun,
him
slumped over in the seat
back road
green trees in that black
shadowing of the
early morn

nylon stockings
stopping
at the knee
standing on the
running board
leaving
the car
leaving the scene
skirt
that starts just above
the
knee
pearl necklace
with
pearl ear rings
jewellery on the wrist
hair down
on shoulders
blouse that opens up
to show enough
reveals
what lured him
to the wheel

distractions

used to pull the weapon
and
end the madness

sexy and murderous
not afraid
to get the high heels
dirty
walking home
in the
dark.

Equal Understanding

her curves,
versus a tall straight
tree –
arm leaning
against the aged
beast of
silence
head,
nuzzled into
elbow.
opposite arm
angles hand
on
her dimpled
backside
as closed eyes
dream
and listen
to the
radiocarbon rings
within the tall
root
telling her about
the years
before beauty
was
bone deep
but just
as vibrant –
the
life blood
running equally
furious
and skyward

curled with a kodak belt around your hip bone

you
sleep among my words
curled on the
sofa
the walls covered with
paintings
framed thoughts i’ve
brushed into
still life
constantly writing
and watching
you
sleeping hugging your
belt line
alone and smiling
pulling lint
from your own
which is
mine to discover
(navel)
a child discovering
the eggplant
within herself
the black and white
photographed
day in sunlight along
the rock line
and desert
where i watch you
in a pool
wondering about
plant life
-you
you are my life
and while you may sleep
in an insecure pose
i write the
confidence
back into your soul
where no
snide words can
reach.
Only my brush
my lens
and
my pen