Anonymously Curious

This constant want
for unbuttoning,
a loose-buckle heat
makes my teeth lean toward
big green trees
with bursting fruit

and every morning
i look up
at invisible mountains,
wandering,
great mineral crowns on my head.

the shortest walks often take me
strolling through echoes of foreign tongue and
i long to get lost in
the most revealing ways.

creatures come and go
helping slow these eyes
to see with all of my self-
fox trot silhouette,
skittish possum paused,
woodpecker drumming hard bark with its beak,
sneaking beer traps in the garden
to drown an army of earwigs.

A student of the body
looks with the pupil of the heart and
I know my mother is well because
when we speak she interrupts
to describe every new bird,
"Oh there's the wren. I'm sure that's the one I saved."

When the world becomes too known,
it's good to leave the house.
That's when I'm hungriest for clouds
and cutting cords to rusty anchors.

That rising heat is
how the
fire inside
speaks out,
whispers
in cedar smoke,
wants to
strip me bare,
rubbed in ashes,
then rolled
in rain
and rivers.

Most birds
first discover
their flights
in falling
and lately,
every little breeze
or rustling
comes
with some
strange calling,
makes me
want to
dive or die
crystalled in
my reflection,
every moment
meant for
swallowing.

Gamblers Wait On Turns

Who will keep the wheel turning
in this burning heart?
There is me of course-
the brightest light in my own dark sweeps
and yet i bet to seek the spark
over and over
in the cycling eyes
and the lives that part.

Hear little deaths calling-
it always sounds like falling,
torn dresses, purple crowns,
golden thorns, and
wedding gowns.

There's caresses on the way down
and strong hands to pull you back up.

There is your face constantly polished
in new mirrors.

There is the resurrected discovery of love
in peeling
and every shift that strips
to bring you new with spelling lips.

Some days i go slow
as mists
and fog
and smoke,
thick with cloud and drift,
picking at the shadows in my teeth
from chewing all these reflections
gathered in my sleep
and little notes
from tucks and folds,
hidden pockets deep:

"In anticipation
brought through doors
for more kissing with the keys-
my feet are bells upon the floor."

or

"Egyptian Book Of The Dead."

or

jit·ney1. A small motor vehicle, such as a bus or van, that transports passengers on a route for a small fare.
2. Archaic A nickel.

[Origin unknown.]

*
Whether fair or cheat,
Where such prayers and feats take us
We will go this bardo with five-sense elements
Touching in the omnibus.
Eye invite you to teach and tease me-
Together we might please infinity
*

Dusk Busking

Sometimes
there's a desperation to live,
give myself over to breath
because death is so close-
it's the ghost in the mirror
and every prayer
makes it clearer,
hair will grow silver
and i will
be a sliver
star-splintered
so now i come summered
with every second summoned,
this hungry tongue electric
tested against the proofs
of such mercurial truths,
guessed with blessings
slipped in twists and kisses,
grace and bits of
colored whispers,
same way snakes
and tape reels
loop with hisses held so holy
in this music looped
medicine business.

Little Songs Search

♫ i will grow old
and swallowed
for this life is
only borrowed
but right now
let me disappear
without fear
into here
laid in
my lovers arms
out of harms way
learning new words
with which to pray
through the lost
and
harder
parts of day.