short moments

light seas passing breeze
clouds float like frigates
thick skies of ocean gray
somewhere near the arctic circle
migratory birds return to distant shores
a compass in their head
or heart
fish swim beneath watery horizons tail-flashing into caverns deep
dark, turnkey passages slip to realms of otherspace
poke out heads that mimic ufos
to some tribal cultures
with petroglyph diaries
earth turns, spins, ringing far flung corners of its portly shape
into rhythms of days and nights
creatures creeping
crawling on floors and surfaces of its skin
beginning day again
climbing towards some summit
over bones, dust, stories of ancestors
remains of lineaged history
short moments of fame, glory, pain and gore
memories of forgetting
wind kissed scents of pine, heather
brush shyly against senses and fade
a night sky
pinpricked with light
a top of a jar,
punched with holes
letting in air for our souls
wee little bugs us
that live and glow here

Velvet Elvis

road rush
car noise
freeway outside my hotel room
mine is the only car parked in the front
of this dilapidated outpost
that was never a great destination
just a tiny dutsy stop alongside
a passage to greater things
lizards scramble cross the lot searching for breakfast
I sip stale coffee and watch velvet Elvis
sounds rushing belay the isolation
of the room and the non-city that this place resides
in the course of everyday destinations
portals of gargoyles lounging around royal arches
guarding hamburgers of paradise where millions, no
billions, are served
to whom?
who awaits to collect all these hungry souls, their chicken nuggets
family meals
who doles out plastic toys of smelted dreams
that dangle from attention moments before their empty nutrition
is tossed roadside as offerings lizards nudge aside to look for living things
crawlies scurrying across dirt and rock
amidst towering things of tiny consequence while whole worlds spin and moves and crosses round invisible to concerns
within larger spheres so many charts and gravitations
whirls and crescents and heliocentric orbits
circling the most mundane
enveloping the most amazing
and it hardly even matters the difference
the arcs and jolts of attention
currencies of common denomination
paying their tithes
at the church of latter day mediocrity

Love Songs (I)

Spawn of fantasies
Sitting the appraisable
Pig Cupid            his rosy snout
Rooting erotic garbage
“Once upon a time”
Pulls a weed      white star-topped
Among wild oats sown in mucous membrane
I would            an eye in a Bengal light
Eternity in a sky-rocket
Constellations in an ocean
Whose rivers run no fresher
Than a trickle of saliva

There are suspect places

I must live in my lantern
Trimming subliminal flicker
Virginal             to the bellows
Of experience
                              Colored glass.

by Mina Loy

my tribe

centered in presence, grounded in body, in process
in practice
finding freedom
to play in the moment
find purity
compassion
imagination
the trick is not more speed
but releasing the brakes
feeling this moment
right here
because
why not?
take your shoes off
wiggle your toes
tickle someone you love

you may have noticed there are not 5 bears anywhere on that fake graphic. I don’t know what happened to them, they were there a minute ago…

what if you knew

What if you knew
taking.that.next.step
meant you could never
find your way back
—what must be true
(to take it anyway)
what if you had
to leave (even yourself)
behind
in the way
(you currently cherish)
would a
promise of salvation
be enough
(when nothing
remained you?)
what if we
aren’t talking
(about death
but) of transformation
would it be
any different?
(to be whole?)