Window Moon

Window Moon

In the windy moonshine womb,

through lilac latticework,

shadow mice race

over a patch of earth;

menstruated other--

together we slough

the tongues of ego,

bounded sinew night.

Smoke curls

flex and float from the chimney

tonight.

alone survivor

alone survivor

In a war porn country

gratuitous explosions

destroy entire bodies

for the hero to see,

and the hero too, while

we be the hero, 
masturbating in this mirror

we munch on popcorn

wiping our lubricated fingers

across the thighs of our jeans

silent but for the mastication

of tender images

vicariously sucking 
amorous vats of sugary soda and

pick flesh off the

zippers of our jackets

while an M4A1 Carbine rips

lines of latex death

tearing through the torsos of earnest young men,

faces pasted in filmic fear

contort in a single take

but for the grave

stone stare, transfixed,

penetrates us.

As I wave to the person in the car driving towards me-

Greetings, fellow traveler. I acknowledge you as a member of the race of humans, of which both you and I are one. Welcome to this moment in the world with me as we pass by one another, serendipitously and meaninglessly, at once, witnessing its appearance and disappearance together, the evidence of which is this, our mutual acknowledgment of it. Thank you.

a furnished life

kitchen counter still

in the center of night

formica plain, carrier of ware

we sleep not

to the green glow of Mr. Coffee’s eye

or the metronomic lullaby of the tap

refrigerator belly growls

furnace exhalations through tin wind pipes

these mechanisms are removed

from the blood and pump and pictures

of our sleep

but the house lives too--

not just we and you

Today

Today.

Distraught at the thought

that I hadn't seen the signs,

but there was nothing to be done--

nothing to be done,

save for today.

Next

Walls loosen

as floors pulse

and twist beneath them;

we

shed this house

from the friction

of two hard places

before and begin

like a snake from its skin.

Wolf Walk on West Lake

1/3/15

In memoriam to an

impression sunk in ice;

for the wolf passed below the stars--

to hunger burning born, maybe,

or curiosity.

I bore witness

to this wilderness.

Prints a perforated edge

of white paper

waits to be torn

free by a higher sun--

mailed to eternity,

postmark North.