Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Desert Wolf

Giggling updraft with cotton candy stuck
in a cloud and the sun shining through
water that rainbows but makes my fingers
sticky. There’s moisture in the air because
we’re in Paradise Valley in monsoon season.

Intersexual plants teal and chartreuse the 
sand colored horizon where purple sunsets
show the reflecting sun where to grow.

Leaving the desert with its heart-shaped 
nopales who's spines tingle your leg as you 
walk. Hares greet the sage leaves. Quail 
bumble under dehydrated trees. We never 
saw a wolf shimmer on the pavement.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

there are eyes

There are eyes to see with and there are eyes to be.
Reflections in retina kaleidoscopes tear apart right side ups.
Dismembering our recollections only to wire synapses 
maybe in our favor but probably not.

We dismiss our old crushes and obsess about decade old albums.
We see ourselves in outdated cutoffs and wave bangs.

Where did we leave our eyes?

We jump into the being ones and forget they see everything.
We think we can choose what gets embedded in our memories.
Refresh your journal and relive the week that you forgot to eat.

When in your past did you feel the sexiest?
Try on that bra again.
And fill your eyes with dew.

For Sherry

We sometimes forget that celebrations happen underground
tiny vessels of nutrients are gathered and exchanged with golden fanfare
limbs created and redistributed in neon nonchalance
creating momentum for the bloom to seduce our eyes.

We think that picking a bouquet and handing it off to our love is the gesture
we assume that life hasn’t thought about itself
that the cells of each contributing force don’t celebrate with us.
Every chain link matters in the expression of care.

In allowing the creation of our beautiful things to have consciousness
we bring the divine into our thoughtfulness.
We fill out the circle of good deeds from conception to receiving.

We’re all in this together and may as well tip our hats to the fungi.

Sunday, January 22, 2017


Your energy is like a blanket heaved at me with no regard for timespace. It Caspers my head and even though I can see through the loose weave, everything is effervescent and golden. There’s no way to take off the blanket unless I trick myself into believing that it was there all along. In which case the gold is part of me and there’s nothing to feel awkward about. It’s silly how many fables your face appears in and how many meditative moments are absorbed by your beating heart in my hands. I’m too old for games now, maybe poetry too, but too scared to be direct. Still worried about sanctity and shit like that. Upsetting the unit and all. As I sit on my not sky blue cushion filled with buckwheat hulls, I clear my mind of passing prose and future lines. Yet the golden fizz still exists. Maybe the blanket image isn’t working anymore because it’s not a filter. This telepathy or dimensional bond could be (ha) something real. With those fuzzy threads reaching out to be unraveled. Maybe it’s my job to share from my open wound of a soul. About how you helped me realize that love goes far beyond any physical manifestation. And that even though my original vision for what human coming together could be failed miserably, you were there to help me through it. And here you are now just when I’ve redefined what it means to be a person on this planet with more delight to share than she knows what to do with. So why you keep showing up in my meditations appears simple. You’ve been there for my heart awakenings and wall breakings, and now it’s my turn to be there for you.