Branches

*
You know that book by your bed?
The one you picked up again recently?
I have that book too.
I love it, but this time
It’s just not the same.
I get about 15 to 20 pages in
and lay it back down.

*
Morning comes
like the whirlwind of youth
and branches begin to fall
like the pages of that book
and I carry those pages away
down the road
where the deer cross
and I lay them back down.

*
And so we wade in the pages
waiting among the branches
for a new day
…a new book.
One that we can
pick up again
and hold up to the sun
and never lay it down.

Dog

Everything makes
sense when I am
petting God’s dog.

The solar eyes of
the beast are illuminating
my electric landscape.

All intricacies are
cosmically ordered,

so the swap land
is froggy with
mosses and ferns.

The animals are
pushing the fence
of progress; pushing

until the wires snap
and the stagnant water
flows into the river.

Dog. Dog, Dog;
I love this adventure.

Dog,

Let’s go fishing.

Dog,

Let’s climb a mountain.

Dog,

The valley.

Dog,

The village.

Dog,

Let’s build a castle on the outskirts, Dog.

Dog,

you’re my dog forever Dog.

I love you.

The Tapping

It is he who walks beyond the emotional cycle

with binary-glyphics and biorhythmic stasis.

For public interest, becomes a graph of physical

health and average habits. When on the heath

with bay steeds, spent critical days tapping hooves.

But as the horses die from lack of the right beating

the tapping becomes the sound of rows of roofing

peeling back to reveal TVs slowly tugging the tennis ball

eyes, just slow enough and with the right amount of

pressure on the optic nerve; the iconic pain-isolating

threshold that awkwardly soothes the strangling of brain

stems and leaves two lips half puckered for the electron beam.

Michigan City, IN

"La destrucción de la orden vieja" y el nacimiento de una estética del arte

José Clemente Orozco, 1926. Escuela Nacional Preparatorio, México D.F.

El simbolismo en las obras de Orozco es muy intrigante. El hombre en este obra está alcanzando en el futuro y está mirando en el pasado. Esto parece definir la estética del muralismo mexicano y es muy similar a Modernismo norteamericano. La atención se centra en el derrumbe del pasado mientras que la está buscando es un busca ciego de respuestas.

No Ordinary Moments

When people cry in corners

and worms populate my drive to school,

the odor is right;

the solution is highly plausible,

and I begin to rub it all over

the people I meet.

During lunch the chef talked about religion

and the man that sat across

from me lost his wife a week ago.

He looked like a skyscraper

with shrimp tails waving

in the heat of the façade.

I felt a book under my bed begin

to rise from the onion volcano.

There were answers in the vapor

and remedial laughter.

We just stared at each other

through the fire.

Coyotes Becoming...

I found this coyote skeleton on a nature hike the other day. The clouds seem to sort of mirror the image of the coyote skeleton as if suggesting an afterlife. It struck me with an invocation of the intriguing and existential binary of life/death, body/spirit, Earth/heaven ...&c.