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Sunday, February 6, 2011

5 Short Poems

exhaustion marks
  the beginning of thinking,
     not the end:
  what of the sentence
that lingers and languors
        picking up
    whatever hangs around
                until it means itself
          and opposites too

and then the misstepping
dancer fakes it
just right
very few catch it
and those that do
admire her
for it

before the wish
   before the thought
before the wild
      and the tamed
   there is the wave
  the rhythm
     the pulse
   to ride

to be bare and lost
        to stand before the blankness
    to wonder into a void
to stand with no feet
     to breathe with no lungs
   to hear with no ears
         to smell with no nose
      to touch with no skin —
     fear and possibility 

scent-encing my way
                across a prairie
        hoping to find
    the lit house
it could be
      around the bend
   straight forward
  but I don't know
         what is a bend
     or what is straight
    just now

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