Hallowed, Be

Thy name
is Dabble,
some shallow rabble of salt,
stained without center skill.

Thy fame
is fleeting,
its dark shore seething with
blast of storm and cold reveal.

Thy hunt
with lore untold, a storied
whack of stars, and thrill.




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Perusing Craig’s List for Chainsaws


-haps they are searching
for something
at its morphologic center.

They’re tied, tired
of both masks
and massacres, the mildewed
March of murdered mold,
the bite of time
and count of teeth.

Beneath it all, a revol
solution, maybe
some crushed created hung
-airy breeze spilled from hungry

He has public
-ally proclaimed this over;
turned his back on all things
sane and same.

When October rains
its fall and fallen, she will tuck
a frozen aster behind her ear,
listen for some distant timber
and once
         …………(and for all)
cut down these sacred trees.



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Rocks, and Other Hard Places

She is in be
gently bouldered
Lake, and the quiet
slake of her own blue

She is first
to scatter pebbles
in her pockets, press sea
glass between her fingers,
linger over the smooth,
cold song of slate.

She is late
to the party and first
to leave, believes more in
crevices of truth and cobalt
raspberry sky.

She’s tied
to these un
-tethered places,
traces of stone and
bone and bend
of breeze, fingertip
sips and hungry,
gulping drinks.

Sometimes these
chiseled corners
her float; some
-times she



Prompted by Poetic Asides.

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Her Blue Phase

photo copy 13

Oh, Blue.
Oh, you of color pawned from sky
Oh you of deep and indigo sleep
and silent, slivered
silvered why.

Oh, you of sparkled surface shone
and leafy ceilings, rocky throne
Oh you of all I’ve ever known
of my own

dip me in blue
and hold me down
until this sky
becomes my crown.

cobalt my soul
and let me steep
until these waves
woo me to sleep.


When the wind pulls,
she’s an ocean.
Wave upon wave tumbled
loose to sand.

When the morning sky woos,
she’s a mirror,
turned inward, upward
in trembling hand.

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is a shel
-tered oyster, a pervasive
perpetual (e)motion
machine, a
three-part series
in the study of trees.

scientists, scholars
study her Ph
-D, her self discovery,
a dissertation in indigo

she’s a district-wide
debut, a deeper blue
than anything azured
by distant sky.

she imagines
waters deep,
houses wooed
by breeze’s

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Lake Sighed

What shall we lace
or trace
or erase
into tumbled sand?

What will we keep
burn deep
spill, steep
with trembled hands?

One desire shines on,
deep indigo true:
That I would always
know You
in all this

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Luna, Naked


if you will, her house
on that golden hill
and all those dark firs
pining for some summer
breeze. Picture those trees
humming some gospel good
news song, some hummed long
-ing of light loosed to ebony

Give her back
her other, better half
and all the cheesy
men you’ve ever seen
in her bright sheen. Beg her
forgiveness for the
tears you’ve shed to sea
instead of sky, the where
        ……….(with all)
and how and when and
why you breathed in
salt, when clouds
made finer sheets.

Make it her own
fault she hides, dissolves
with time, wanes when
tides complain and fades
within the milky veins
of her own shallow,
swollen skin.

to hear her violent
violet roar, the stored
up rage she holds close
and closed in slatted,
starry cage.

give her some small
space to erase her

Prompted by Poetic Asides.



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