coy reaper

joke’s on you reaper
i’m already dead
i’ve already known 
every song you’ve thrown 

i’m singing my own 
this so, maybe you want me 
to take souls
is that why 
you keep skipping your shadows
cross my heart and home 

but i’m not like you
i will ride the sunbeams 
especially those i follow down
to your discarded husks 
where i’ll bow then mount 
surge skyward 
glide and return 

play this flying game 
hold onto this name 
until it’s time
for you to approach me in earnest

varsity

it’s just believing in the other 
as you meet their eyes
not a concept, an action
an approach
a drill to run each day at practice 
when’s practice again?

not after school
not saturday morning
every moment of every period
and then between classes in the hall too
in fact, mostly there 

this is your life we’re talking about 
no camaro
no homecoming
no band practice
no sega
no peaceful death in old age
no virgins in heaven
get it down 
or you’re going to be held back 
for the rest of time 

into the hearth

i’ve been growling a lot
it helps me through the flesh eating subzero
if this spirit of cold had a beating heart
a throat of muscle 
i would tear into it with my rabid tooth

i’m more concerned though for my growl
at the endless tasks of the mundane
items to sort, messages to address
dunces from mass blocking my road 

or worse yet
at the soldiers of ignorance i pass daily
who corral an elderly woman
on the sidewalk chanting nigger
who force a youthful woman
frozen in fear into the wall of the barroom

these furious blockades 
like sent straight by toecutter 
singe my insides 
especially when following
the glow of love
the grace of song

my love though helps me
handle demon flames that destroy
move them into the hearth
to be a fire that warms
quiet the growl to a purr
that disarms
open these fists of fury
into gasho 

blood filter

what is this filter on our iris
when the heart’s been removed
when the heart was stolen
is bound in a dungeon
this filter that paints the captors' faces
blood-encrusted masks of pure evil
endowed by the otherworldly to ravage 
this filter that superimposes the righteous path
onto a plain old street 
that makes those masks from a face 
nearly identical to your own
that turns the stool or fencepost
into the baton to crack the masks

i don’t get, is what i’m getting at
who set this in motion
and how we allow it
don’t you see they’re you
don’t you know each skull you collapse
is that of a child you’ll never have

what i do get now is the heavy lids 
and i mean to cultivate them
so that your lenses will not fit
your demons will not suck my heart out through 
your spells will not be granted entry
to impose the blood filter
go try some other fool

but all this said, test me
i will crack your skull 
and relish the sound 
was never sure about kids anyway 

a box of old pictures

who deserves bliss
only those who smile, not cry
at the love-faded snapshots
of castles of europe
of brown VW rabbits
of teenage eyes full with naive fire
that betray a first harvest of desire
campgrounds of twentieth century mist
barrooms of an 80’s tryst

those who do not covet passage
into the storied past
or the triumphant future
of a love offering bliss now
that's who
they’re only old pictures 

thank your assailant

grateful for the cell, stretcher and catheter
i’ll aim now to wear my body
as the blanket perfectly wrapped
in first blessed moments of bed, after the cold 
when bliss and innocence exist
when demons and assailants
are held fast at the threshold 

and on the other side of my head
i’ll know they come and go freely
while i’m gone away beneath in sleep 
they do what they will

i’ll wake dazed, the sun will loaf 
again remembering the lowest
i’ll say thanks for the chance to allow 

clean machine

my only aim now is to be 
a more effective vessel 
i’ve scoured all my pipes 
refinished to a perfectly reflective sheen
the filler will flow without the slightest stick 
the matter will move of its own volition
i’ll host the sweet and acidic
the chunky and the thin 
the scorching and the soothing 
from the source above and below 
surging through my manifolds
note motherboard signals if necessary 
sent to the following unit with record efficiency 

just don’t forget 
my two-year maintenance regimen 
pull me from the machine 
wash with care   
leave me on a clean towel on the shop shelf 
put on your old favorite AM song 
let me rest and dry

jamas

i wait dazed for my woman
in cloud of r&b christmas light din
been run through the wringer
wheeled on the stretcher
delivered to the last supper
overlooked at the table’s corner 

she has turned me inside out to dry
so i’ll try to fold me up nice
before she arrives 
to bring me home to wear to bed
just the right time, place and purpose
for my new fuzzy surface 

fan a flame of yuletide fancy

laughter spreads like flame through a cluttered living room
out front the one bar, new england christmas eve
amongst still neutral acquaintances on one of these nights
the light will move as easily as the darkness
isn’t it something how seldom we see
our eagerness to adopt the burning of fear or fancy
through the eyes and sighs of comrade or foe
we plead just light me feeling and let the ash of reason
rise into that final dark waiting
above below and all around
where our dead float free
give me a break tonight
for the sake of the magic baby 
or any old cause you need to burn
for down here the bulbs glow warm as every year

christmas card from hades

i ran to the prius from her freckled arms
the hungry ghosts calling me urgent
to make their morning coffee

80 minutes later at the tail end of the meeting
when i’m finally able to sit
mary said fire cleanses the spirit completely

my tears burst as if hooked to the sprinkler system
mere mention of spiritual fire
could it be i just released you?
wailing into the fog of souls 
thick over the burning cabin
that june midnight 

but later on digging through records 
my lower back exploded in burning pain
right where an old shaman lady
years ago told me you lived

maybe you’re just saying merry christmas 
maybe you’re here to stay
but it was nice to finally hear from you 

smooth relay

with a thick and airy 9 inches on it
no one on foot and each sound wrapped 
in echoing gauze
town is kind and eases me into the tavern
where my hat fits so nice like it’s barely there 
old men play the blues like they barely care
young women flap their shoulders like they’ll 
take to the air

i with my floating hat can take a slow seat
feel ink on paper again 
as one word begets the next
any urgency breathed away
there’s nothing to be done
and nothing is hidden

revelations simply observations
tied to notions held falsely dear
i’m partial more today to motion, potions
devotionals 
my love has come so easy this season
and can only be passed on 
with the loosest of grips

above the cloud line, below the street line

dozing passenger rolling slow down main street
for this moment the gap has closed 
between my dreams and my world
your voice abuzz in my ear
with tales of a tent home above the cloud line
surveying slope, elk and bee
in the misty morning 
where you’d be content to die
your trusted lover behind hanging the clothes 
and the golden headlights through 80’s alley fog 
in my mind match just right somehow

but i lift my head and open my eyes
to see as we pass the steam from the nose
of an old itinerant man walking down the shoulder 
bearded and bundled against -5
completely failed and cast off by his country
he will die tonight as likely as not
blessed not with a death of green belonging

advice from the herd

it's certainly not what I think
and i know stuff
so how could i fucking foul to think
that it's what they think

they, by and large vain cattle
crammed in a mirrored pen
taking their chosen sugar through the straw
who don't even notice the daily milking
over easy listening

i love those cows and wish i could free them each
but i can't interpret their bellows
and don't need to translate them
into some sort of blessing
on my way of riding the range
what cowboy ever took advice from the herd

burn me up quick

when they sing it true i eat up every word
for instance, sarah’s daddy was a railroad man 
who died not far from here
his head was found in the driver’s seat
and his body ain’t never appeared
everyone’s honky tonkin 
as i sink my face 
and shiver back the tears 
for the sake of social grace

i don’t know how i became a bare nerve aflame
and i don’t know how long i can hold fast 
long enough to move my goods i hope
because if this fire is not for giving
then may it burn me up whole and quick 

willingness

i'm building a magic castle
ornate, translucent and vast
ascending spiral steps as i set them
surveying the kingdom
there are tigers above and tigers below
they tell me to be willing
to drop the wand at any time
jump back down
and meet the eyes
of a real human
living in a real house

lunch hour

thursday i asked aloud for the dharma
i bowed at the altar, i left an offering
the dharma took a weekend, but i was protected
i carry a couple talismans

monday noon helen spoke it
with straight spine and sloping shoulders
served it fearless to a whole circle 
of us between worlds 
my shoulders for now hang easier too
the stone for now has fallen 
or the bodhis have caught it above me
before its force even whooshed the crown of my head

i step easy home and at my mailbox
a letter from the temple
the new year’s greeting
the message, shin-kai 
heart open

so i take the moment to let this dharma fill me
and pass on
before fretting
about whether or not to go back to the office

shin-kai 

rinzai

yearns and yawns
fuzz the eyes 
until the object wakes
now dart away
start the buzz afresh

not at rest but waiting
a reckoning
bliss at last
or the overdue lash
someday
some moment 
will come
thWACK!

it’s the lash.

WAKE UP YOU ARE HERE!

you were perverted too

lust is so tricky
what soap opera did we internalize
what music video
what catechism 
which 80's porno

looped our noodles just so
what's good is bad what's bad is good
soul soothing and pants tickling
mutually exclusive 

if we were feral
when our eyes found refuge in another's 
we would fuck, and build a shelter 
instead we seek the eyes of danger
and keep the kindness for tea time 

showtime

head skyward i step the sparkly sidewalk

a night past full the musky moon 

lounges languid in yellow gloom
proud after her big show

my shoulders slightly bounce in rhythm 

those muscles disengaged and somehow

this requires the most vigilance 

of almost anything i do in life

as the street’s sole occupant

i am free to extend my dreams

i sing your new day ballad to myself 

miss moon just above the elegant corner 
of this 1938 block building 
i see you next to her seated on the roof 

swinging your legs and whistling 
gazing up at your comrade 
making three stories put you in the heavens 
you have your old short hair
and for all i know you truly were there
last night at showtime 

spencer circle by feel

we go 15 mph on spencer circle
the road is of mud and windy and coy
the trees and sky are faint behind
ditches and snowdrifts form our track 
she breathes and gazes stoic
she likes the heated leather seats
aiding needed relaxation 

we roll slow up to the doe, unsurprised
she ambles out the road 
her mate to our right looking on like whatever 
good thing we’re sober we both comment 

then i kill the headlights and proceed
spencer circle rises purple
the horizon pops like in a 3D children’s book
dark silver cotton clouds alight across the sky
we are happy 
or content i guess 
almost at one with the backcountry 
but with the benefit of seating, warmth and kinship 

back in town, i admit i like my erratic sleep
as a final bastion of derangement
i fear a healthy lifestyle 
she reassures me that i’ll never be normal 
i softly punch her thigh and let my fist sit there 
as long as is passable 

we say goodnight 
both a little more at ease 
and closer to eye to eye

rohatsu

as the morning star appears 
see earth at your knee
green blades lit by dawn
serpent slithers and belongs
brow and jaw still as the mountain
half lids of stone
heart a hummingbird suspended 
at the petals of birth and death 

growing this from the pond
to pluck and pass intangible 
a birthright, but no less a miracle
illumine all and always
thank you for the refuge

that old heifer

as a man who will always forget how to talk 
i bear bruises and tears 
from the handful of times when the muse
that old heifer 
wakes where i left er 
miles back
and charges 

i first faintly hear her hooves
click-clack, but soon
the street begins to shake
and i can distinguish her furious lowings

try as i may to jot them in plain english
to maybe slow her
turn around, give her what she wants
coax her to walk beside me in peace
so far she ain’t having it 

full bore and i feel her hellish snort
upon my back, just before i’m trampled 
my little book airborne like a wooden pin
smash and roll in a whirr of sky and earth 

and when i finally rise
she’s five years ahead in a trail of dust
someday we’ll cease this race 
and i’ll ride er slow and steady into my dusk