Snow flies
And so shall I fly:
Stable but absent;
Nose towards sky.
White tiger
Plays softly nearby
Pine tree
Getting decorated.
I gift each breath
The bellow of my chest;
Abdomen to rumbling,
Seated like stump.
I seek nothing
And return to nowhere.
My wings of a vision
Leave me numbing home.
I’ve roamed here before
Last years summer heat
Lazing about the full grass
Cautioning the flies
That swell when the breeze dies down.
These cows they look familiar
But the birds, they’re all new
They have a shrill
That reminds me of chicks
Taking flight for the first time.
I’ll watch the leaves blow
Flashing me their white underbellies,
A reminder that even trees
Have a sensitive side
And to mind where I choose to reap
So that even the Sun knows
I have heeded its cry.
(part XIV)
But there were still people
Who roamed outside of Safety.
They were the sinners
The witches
The vegabonds
The immoral
They were hunted
And killed upon sight
For it was Fearful
To look them in them in the eye.
They existed as people had existed
Long before Fear had set in
To the hearts of the Fearful.
They hunted for food
That ran wild in more quantity
They grew their own food
In the dirt that crawled
With worms and beetles
Maggots and flies.
They made friends with dogs
And sang to birds
But to be sure they were unsafe
For they were outside of Safety.
(part XVI)
Blueberry, my Blueberry,
She blew away today
Hidden in a tumbleweed
She rolled herself away
I looked and saw the dust storm grow
Watched the trees bend halfway down
Even saw the clouds go by
Faster than crows fly.
All I saw was a dust imprint
Where her blue suitcase had been
And my sweet memory
Of my darling, Blueberry.
I wrote your name on an envelope
That closed and sealed with my mark
Long, long, short, two dots and two curves
A stamp that became postmarked.
I wondered there how long it would take
To find its way into your hands,
Would it arrive bent, curled?
Stained from a leak in a roller?
I wondered how high it would fly
Inside the bowels of an airplane
How cold those bowels would become
In spite the warmth so inscribed.
I hoped my meaning would be understood,
That my script legible,
And that each word that you would read
Would be read just as I had spoke.
And most of all, I wondered if
The return address would be saved,
So that your unique letter
Would be sealed
With a stamp that became postmarked.
How do you manage the weight of the world
When the weight of the world is too much?
When the birds are all sent to the sky, flying
By the dinosaur bones floating through the air?
How do the trees that lived for ten thousand years
Live for thirty years rotting in a house?
How does a landscape dug up, bulldozed around,
Erected with skyscrapers of metal and glass
Placed on the land held sacred for generations
Now become meaningless and void?
Perhaps it’s become a subject of cultural appropriation
Us humans and that of the Gods,
Powerful mother Gaia and her wiles and subtlety
And a grandiose sense of reality.
In the moonlight
That claims us all the same
I want to touch you
So tender
Lonesome
I am a spoken dove
Two wings to fly so high
Golden wishes
Expired beside my written name
To late, I am free
It’s happened again
You’ve opened up
I’m flying now
You’re wind upon my sail
Rested with a cockatoo
Who told me every tale
Which kept my dreaming
Flowing free
Found you here again
Overwhelming experiences
Laid the groundwork
Afresh
Lichen upon dead branches
Where rainfall
To rest
Lying next to it
Awaiting
Cried knowledge
Unable to fly abreast
I’ve soaked my shoes in two cans of kerosene
Waiting for sunset so I can feed you
I don’t think the birds have smelt it yet
But when they do, when they fly high
When the sky is soaked with iridescence
And midnight remembers no names
I shall let the match to every hallow
That dares claim my name to fame.
