breath

under tarp
of bedsheets
shelter
unmatched
a single
presence
no separate
form

focus
on touch
of lips
words
spoken
between
as alone
becomes
undone

wrapped
around
eternities
between
tidal
courses
churning
silent
song

tiller

you took an interest
in my garden

you planted tiny seeds
transplanted tiny plants

you came and tilled the bed
made it ready for planting

you comment on the birds
the wonder of the trees

you see the power of the mystery
of a universe so vast

you see the beauty of the mystery
of the tiniest bug

you see the relationships
between them all

you see them as a whole
as a cosmos

you still come and till
my garden, my soil,

you plant your seeds
you turn my compost

you till my soil
you break it open

you make the mundane resplendent
you make it fresh

you make me dream
take those dreams
and make them flesh


http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/tiller

execution

delivered
fate

end state
inclusive

called
the cell

spoke
some words

truly
said
and
truly
did

began
to beg

restarted
aligned

completely
hid

momento morté

earth is my home Robin

and that is the extent
of a verb and a possessive pronoun
and a proper noun and another noun and another noun
now
on
from
now
on

done with it all

done.

or just beginning?

that makes me laugh
inside
whatever that's called.

I want to be done.

nothing's ever

always part way

when I die
there'll be some
leftovers.

I remember my work
it was something
wonderful
at least to me
it informed
my being
my beginning

no longer

I'm done.

cooked on both sides
ready to take off the grill

a little scorched on the outside

but still pink in the middle.

dead bunny, dead bird

after rain
poor little bird
drown
washed through
downspout
laid
at end
tangled
with debris

still bunny
small and stiff
lay mid jump
like cardboard cut-out
with glued on fur
nails
eyes

shovel dips
into wet sod
then blackest dirt

there rests
bunny and bird
feather on fur
bone on bone

parking garage

.

so neutral
no meaning

concrete echos
weird atmosphere
painted antique white

aluminum foil
insulated duct work
tucked above

pallets tilted
spools of wire
in courses

dust
stacks of bike racks
leaning

a few cars parked
but mostly
empty
underground

.

hurt

so easily
seems like
anything
but mostly
nothing
can set it off

that numbing pain
makes me drop
before a blade of grass
and ask
for something
something
to forgive
me

for the hurt
that bends
images
and light
and sound

distorting
disproportionate

don't touch me yet.

fears

hey, I was hoping for an email or a call.
I like to hear your voice before I go to bed...

Don't you like to hear mine? (maybe not) oh well.
Oh, you probably were talking to somebody else,
Nothing left for me.
No, you and they are the real match.
Awful sorry they're playing so hard to get.

maybe someday it will happen.
and hopefully, I'll be
dead.

word

a word
torn from
forgotten pages
floats
with the breeze
landing near
my tennie
it flirts
around
my toes
until
I bend
and reach for it

it plays
hard-to-get
still dancing
on the air
alit aloft aflit

but then
it lets me
grab it.
i hold it
in my hand
flatten the wrinkles
to read

a word

poet's garden

mulch
compost

soil
raked up
wild

settled into rows

planted
with seeds

to germinate
and grow

growing
long enough

to produce
edible fruit

wilder still
into the fall
and chill

tangled
dry
crust

self esteem

to be inside
this blank
adolescence
this labyrinth
of intense
insecurity
is like
disrobing
in front
of every one
of the
captors

raptors
with claws
and wide open jaws

placing
a toe
in confidence
to
always
be
scolded
scalded
by
the
authors
of
authority
that
settles
like a fog
over life
in a cube

thunder

crunching
electric
tumbling
yawns

across
gray
heavy
scudding

another

is it another
addiction?
something
that takes
you away
from real
reality?

is it another
form of self-medication?
masturbation?

do you rely
on the reply
to get you by?

can you leave it?
like an episode of Oprah?
can you let it lay
or do you just
have to play?

the hours
melt away
into days
okay.

commenteer

it's an echo chamber
a mirror in a mirror in a mirror
not your dogma
you're not a demagogue
try, try, try.

burden
embarked
Sisyphean

it'll be all right
just spend
the rest of your life
fighting among
all the commenteers

blazing
flaming
bright as truth
they can't look away!
they'll have to listen
to what you say!

push send

push send
again, and again.
logging
trunks
and volumes
blogging

trying to stop
a machine
run amok
find the nerve
and end it

from without
or within
undaunted
proselytize
with no end

proselytize

sound off
against a wall
that absorbs
every wave

a dark
abstraction
binary
infractions

railing against
a system
that hasn't
got the ears
to listen

energy spent
intellect charged
examined
from your heart

understanding

obviously
I've
completely
missed
the
point
along
the
way
somewhere,
and
I
can
say
with
complete
sureness
that
I
still
don't
get
it.

formerly

wasn't there
a reason
when it came
to a head
that lead
us to
manage
a straight
descent
through
the narrow gate
right
into hell?