20200630.0430

Sometimes it seems the only color I can see is red
Whether because the haze has descended again
Or that is the color of the lights that shine for me
And I will not say such have no place
But I miss the broader spectrum
Wish I could see the rainbow again

20200629.0430

I did not expect to enjoy the bratwurst so much
Though I confess
I gagged a bit when the greasy spray
Hit the back of my throat
Still
I swallowed it down
And the rest of the meat followed it

20200628.0430

Life imitates art
A saying said many times
Passing all seasons
Mackay makes a claim of art
Wherein do we mimic it?

20200627.0430

Lowering ceiling
Darkening over stained walls
Their brown trim greening
How long will the summer sun
Take to strip that color off?

20200626.0430

Excited as Aestas approaches
Ouranos cannot hold back
Spraying what he has had mounting up
Over Gaea's hills and valleys
And she does not seem to mind his excitement
At another form than hers as she moves under him

20200625.0430

Did those who fired off the rounds
Now legendary for their size
Noted for their impact
And the craters they left behind them
Know their guns to have been so large
Or have they expanded in being the targets of
Massed fire themselves?

20200624.0430

Shooting round after round
Perhaps blindly downrange
Spraying and praying as the saying
Goes for such things
It is better that a smaller caliber round be loosed with
Each finger-motion
Than a larger round or load of shot

20200623.0430

How often I shoot from the hip
And place my shot on target,
But how much tighter a grouping when
I take the time to line up the shot
As I too rarely do,
Though I will still empty my magazine
At every opportunity!

20200622.0430

My Muse speaks to me in idle moments
Her words the whispers of wind in the leaves
Long brown on the ground no less than
Still green on the branch
And I struggle to account for all that I hear
Stenography not among my best skills

20200621.0430

Sitting still might seem to be
The best balm to a body overworked
But the settled stone may shatter when
It must move again

20200620.0430

The stage is set
The lights shine hot and bright
And they will dim but little for long
While Summer dances
And many will have to fan themselves

20200619.0430

I note the day
Because it is not mine to mark
A reminder that
Though one step was taken
Long overdue
The journey is far from over
And too many drag their feet

20200618.0430

I speak the words in halting lines
Listening for faint echoes
Delighting in what few return to me
From a chasm that must be deep and ragged
For how quiet it remains

20200617.0430

Being apt to be a brandished brand
I must wonder what tinder I kindle
And how the heat and smoke I produce
Make dry and stunt the growth of
Still-young green

20200616.0430

Harsh words and hard feelings
Hammering upon the wedges that will
Split the family tree
Making the solid bole and the spreading boughs
Chunks reunited only to feed the pyre
And with how long and hot the bitter fires burned
It is a marvel that any warmth remains
Any substance yet smolders as ash
Greys the brown charred black
Made brittle

20200615.0430

Even with the sweat beading
Between my breast and my belly, both swollen,
And with the kindly sun sliding towards summer
I thrill at the work of four brothers' lips
As they blow

20200614.0430

If I am flushed so
And salt fluid wrung from me
Even at the rumor of her approach
What will Aestas have from me when
She flops into my lap and
Grinds on me in earnest?

20200613.0430

Aestas has given an early show
Dancing through the hills before her billing
The gleam struck from her kindling much
And bringing rising heat where she will have
A longer residence

20200612.0430

Too long away from
Rhythmic pulse and thrust
And wondering that
What is dry may rust
That what is near no
Oven grows a crust
And grows stale, too
Too brittle for a bust
That stands firm, pale
And, still new, in full trust
That it remains untouched
Or hopes, at least. It must
Be kept contained
By those who think it just
And not, as oft,
Antenna raised for lust

20200611.0430

Trying to clap along with the beat
And falling athwart it every time is
No good thing for someone who once thought
To anchor an ensemble
And it is worse yet that
No baton traces out its pattern
Where it can be seen

20200610.0430

Fear has tripped me up again
Cracking my shins upon itself so often that
I fear to stand, even
In anticipation of the pain I am certain will come
And to the bruises that form I can but apply a poultice
Of bitter herbs and sour
But it does not draw the hurt away

20200609.0430

Again
Cervid libido runs along the same paths
Wearing them yet deeper as it
Presses on to a familiar ending
Reaching it quicker and quicker
And needing to
Though the ever-growing number of points
Should make for slower approach

20200608.0430

Hands have worked upon the clay
Gathered in from many places
Though it has not passed through so many potters' hands as might be thought
Or hoped
So the clay is only roughly formed
Its shapes gross and blunt
Rather than showing the intricate detail
That more work and more varied allows

20200607.0430

A good rain is always welcome
Where oak and cedar and mesquite grow
To cloak the limestone hills in greening shades
But the rain is not as good on the second day as the first
Or on the third as on the second
And hail is no kind of rain at all
Which my roof does not turn aside
As it does the falling water not made quite so cold

20200606.0430

Floods and torrents move much earth away

Smash against buildings and ruin them

But their flows at length trickle into the earth

And build up sparkling columns

Glorious to see

And their shining structure seems to have grown stronger

These many years

Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad

20200605.0430

They mouth their lies in calling now for peace
Who have inflicted violence without cease
And seek to glory in abrupt release
Of passions that they claim are all inborn
In them, though they lack fang and claw and horn,
And even those that bear them have forborne
To use them on their own more than they've not,
Putting them to their use when things run hot
And not otherwise, as is oft forgot.
But in the anger that informs them lies
The Stupid God, as should be no surprise,
And they think, fools, who do not it despise,
That none will mark their many acts of wrath
Or think they might prevail on such a path.

20200604.0430

They were walking on the sidewalks
Hobbling on their canes
Sitting on their porches
Sitting in their homes
Where were they supposed to be?

20200603.0430

Against the long systemic horror
When those currently impotent long for the day they can do the fucking
And do not want to wear a condom when they do
There are no little blue pills that are effective
Indeed
Such small things in such a color seem to be the problem
Not the solution

20200602.0430

Sitting in the sunsets of late spring
And sweating such as surely leaves a ring
Or circle on the shirt, to censuring
Someone sees no smaller thing
Than certain seizing of some pleasuring

20200601.0430

No marching feet bestride it now
But broken cadence still somehow
Is sounded on it, breaking down
The rhythms of the aging town