Sunday, December 9, 2018

Sunday Poem


Our lives are parallel lines
But not in the mathematical sense,
(The certainty that they will never cross)
Which might be fine.
But it would be our great loss.
I believe in the sanctity of uncertainty
The possibilities beyond sight
When solids melt into a liquidity
That falls over the edges of cliffs
Into warm pools that heal all rifts

The law of parallels mandates unveering rigidity,
Straightness into eternity.
Never to touch.
Never to kiss.
But in the far off darkness, the eyes adjust,
Begin to see where our lines
Start to loosen and twist
Like arborizing vines,
Alive and sinuous and free,
Coiling up the trunks of ancient trees.
All laws break down in time.
Parallels no longer equidistant,
Verge toward tangency, subtle as an optical trick,
where lives collide with a soft click.
Close your eyes, put your ears to the ground and listen.


Sunday, December 2, 2018

Poem Sunday


I don’t want to get out of the shower
I want to stay in here where it’s warm and wet
Stripped, drip drip dripped.
It’s only a thin polyvinyl chloride drape
That hides me from that chilly lost world.
I want to see you naked in the rain
When everyone else thinks you’ve gone insane.
I want to watch you on the beach
Sunning yourself in rays of ruin.
I want to capture you laughing
As you fall down trap doors of sorrow.
Your squinting eyes are either hints of pain,
As you slip beyond my reach,
Or the unfurling of a terminal smile.

This water is warm and steady.
I should like to bring you inside,
Into the steam where we can hide
From the fearful and reverential unready.
It’s always just around the corner….
Down the hall….
This little space where the water sometimes falls.
Wash my back, scrub my stains
(This is our water, this is not rain)
And I will take brushes to your legs,
All the way from your hips to your toes.
This is the way it goes.
We’ll never clean out the deepest dregs.
But I will wash your skin until it shines.
And I will make you mine.