Day 7

I am the forerunner and the background.

The blind spot you were never expecting to see

until I was four steps too close to your face.



My skin is a well worn cotton t-shirt and clay;

still soft and comfortable though fire

has burnt it enough to crack like the blood vessels of sleepless eyes



I am the last thing you think of on Easter

and the first thing you think of on fourth of July;

remember our fireworks...I guarantee you wont find their equal.



My neck is a young maple whose sap

is tart and sweet; choosing spring as her awakening season

and fall as a season of color blaze followed by naked and unashamed.



I am the first spark of light on the horizon

and the echo of thunder that makes your breath stop

tight in your belly before it comes back through your toes, legs, torso....



My feet are the traveling roots of the prairie grasses

moving miles but seeming to stand still; they sway in breezes

and gale storms alike but more than that; they dance in the rain.

Day 6

haiku


inspiration should
come sooner than 12 midnight
brain is too tired

Guernica

skin ashen like newspaper clippings
these toes will not stop breaking when I walk
it has been years since my shoes were burned alive
along with my books and brothers

the sun of God
did his eyes find us here?
is the horizon too big for him to climb or
did we dream up this hell on our own?

All the sparrows have lost their voices
and the lights of the village
have been extinguished by the moans
of motherless sons and son-less mothers

our screams tear at the sky
sounding like nails on slate
or the terror of an inconsolable mare
who has lost all sense of place

the sound of our tears like bones dropped in empty graves
it is our symphony of Morse code
but our message is not SOS
our message would say;

Come help us set our history back into our mouths
Remind us of what tales uncensored tongues may tell

Hold the candle above our heads as we crawl
so that our bodies will not break on the boulders of false hope.

And if you are not coming, dont tell us. Let your hand fall
unnoticed. For all we have is that whisper of rescue and survival.

Day 4

"what is that?" you say
a noise that envelopes your skin
as light as dust
as easy as your eyes resting in mine

the trees breath in our sweat
this moment is a wire balanced
between our teetering hearts
and yet they breath

as sure as the multiplying cells between us
this sound is the persistance of the highway
the smell of peetmoss
and the feel of mud between my toes

it is honest like whiskey
will always burn goodly on the way down
it is simple like the first down beat of moonlight sonata
will always hit you in your sternum

Day 3

The bricks are dusty and red
like the colors of the earth beneath our feet
like the color my heart bleeds as you turn around.

You will know me by the red droplets that mark my path
this heart on my sleeve that keeps bleeding.

free write

Her hair was the color of the wheat at sunset
and it kissed her shoulder blades as she crossed the street in slow totery moments.
She is as shiny as a new penny in the sun light.

I remember when looking both ways before we stepped on pavement was the most dangerous thing we had to worry about.
I remember when ice cream could cure anything.
I remember when we would tell stories through the scariest of thunderstorms.
Leaving all of our dreams tucked between the covers of your queen size bed.

You were a mother sooner than we both thought.
She will always wake to your face bright and open just as I did.

NEW BEGININGS....Day 1

Tonight I will embark on this epic journey once again...I will complete this full year of poetry if I have to type till my fingers break off and bleed.

Day 1

wet your whistle with
a tasty and short Haiku
yup thats it for now