There is no honor in this/ Not in these bells that
Sob with the voice of swallows
Armed and naked I rise
Mouthing mantric circles to creatures of air
And blood.    The world was set to spin
Just so.

Not like us- these denizens of the small places
Hold their own- there is much earth provided
But with such clear waters who needs
The sun- its viscous alacrity shining even
When the moon dips-giving its penny blonde face
Mountains of its own. Not like
Mine, poor bartered soil.

All of this, and Cassiopeia too
Hardly scared now- the dragon never made it
Even her father drifts in her chair -
Only his wife remains. Frightened and stiff, looking
At fleeing before the next comet may (not) arrive
But only pass- taking her hope, her freedom, her
Need for dragons
And daughters
Away.

The starts remain
Unnatural alters, they are ever twisting like wraiths
And doves- those little songs of morning w/no real meat
But us- we eat them anyway, it is what we
Do, we pick their bones as our lives
Not for ourselves but for others when they intrude
And die for us.
What is one cross-vs.- another but blame
Laid decisively low and lacking direction.
This is the pattern we see when we
Cast our stones at each other. These
Things aren’t shadows. They aren’t ellipses or
Sly creatures- they are simply
Truth that can’t be riddled away.
Not while spinning poetic silhouettes and
Bardic solemnity that insist they will exceed us. Do they
Not- they exceed us, do they
Not- they exceed us like the oceans’ wide brim
That eats sailors. And ships. And even
The sky I’m told
Sometimes folds itself like a fan
    into gently flooded hills
Where the dolphins- yes, the dolphins,
It would have to be the dolphins
Since the merfolk are all
gone now, leaving just you and me because
the merfolk are all gone now- it’s just you
and me cause the merfolk are nothing
if not dead now

which is okay, you know, there is no better place
than one that cradles you fondly to and from, so you
know that they’re being loved so soundly
that the gulls must shout them
awake. The sea eats its folk- the
fish are like candy, caramel goblins and
eels breed in places we’ve only spoken of.
The ocean holds them in its mouth like
Brown sugar and marbles- Oh do be careful you don’t choke
On my goblins and other silica gods

Or angels, swimming in the water
And rooting in deep caverns. We are to
Pull ourselves, we are to pull ourselves we are
Too tired to pull ourselves again from
The water to air. Feet make poor fingers
We need them to run and
To swim. We run. From ourselves, we run. It is only at
A distance I see you bluely and unpresent.
It must be you because only one reflection
Sings that way

And it is not yours. Or anyone’s
For that matter. And it
Does matter, does it not, lying about in the great absurdity
Of it all?

I’ve never believed in angels. Or corals, for that.
They are too frail, wound in threads
Nothing I know of spins. Spinning is an art
Ask any scorpion and we’ll deny our tapestries
To the uninitiated, the uninvited. Even as we ourselves are weavers
Sometimes we are caught
And that is where I am. Not. But on your shore

Straining to feel Calypso’s pure note as she pours it
Through the wind and water, and out into
The bones of the sea.

Shiva stands. She is
Blessed.
The river runs through her hair, rank
Undefiled by true believers.
Shiva stands, silently bending
Not a hawthorne in sight or some such
Twisted bird as she.
She bathes in crows, they scatter like light-
Dark memorials that breathe in. and out. And in. and out.
Breathe water, not light. Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breathe out.
Breathe tundra night, frozen
Many bones.
Breathe in, breath out, breathe in, breathe out
Light, dammit, light, I say
-LIGHT-

Shiva stands
Shivering under dawns bright marbles
Scanning the sky for signs of
Her own.
Humming sacred songs
That roll across the plains.
Glacier kind and oh so even
Dipping red lips, she suckles
snow capped mountains.
All of the creatures on the mountains
are mad.

Shiva stands.
Not even the oceans retreat
But move forward,
Endlessly forward,
Rolling
in a perpetual thunder
Of hips.
And Hymns.
She is blessed.
She scatters a murder of light
with a glance.

She is blessed.
A river runs through her hair.

Pillows breed strange revelations, ones
That I would not be caught
Undressed in. One never enters a bed
Unarmed.

Truth cannot be your blanket- it is sheer and
Heavy, weighing down the body. It lets in the cold
And the rain and the eyes of predators both simple
And complex. To be garbed
With truth makes you foolish like royalty- an
emperor wearing his kingdoms
fortune
with pride. Love plays
These games, they're called :find the innocent- then we

All scatter - Marco
                              Polo
                    Marco
Polo
       Catch the tiger by the
                                                           Polo!

Caught by the hair- dragged before jackals in iron mail
Love's fool pride leading man before vanity's precipice
Samson deserved to lose his eyes.

 Almost without company- some
Graphic face
 that has its own/Pulse
and feels its voice beyond the visual alphabet
   But no poets frequent this ice. Only men
That share the same goatee
Faded creatures clad in
 testosterone Images
of how a woman fucks
             And some times
             feels.
The Sapphos have more life- they are
   Paranoid and make more eyes
They see you looking
    And look away

How did I get here out of my swim
And my diale-tic-cal place-
Within faces that seem borne by ones
     That knew me where/

This dirge is a tangible
      smile that never comes.
Commonly, I seek the filling
     Sifting wasted green things- we’d be here
Not here, we’d be homeless by now
leering at copper angels- their wings too heavy
to commit a single crime
heaven would have been saved, I say, had God
had the sense to weigh down these servants
in stone
like we did
and now they are ballasts
to our gravity, hollowed Israeli saints
Abrams last best hope
Went truly in ashes

They don’t tell you this-not if
You fear the soot stained feet
Of innocents
Lambs still bleating - these knives
Can’t cut
Easter may come without me
This time.

Poseidon- You mock the moons phases-
  banishing pale death to the wings of the gaping IS
        wide mouth baited and pierced.
Once I studied your fear
And saw broken monsters.
  They were your bones. The merfolk
        Intervened they
        Loved us.
They came in colors, solace on their faces
      The Lord once ceased
      Upon them
Knowing they ruled another sand
Another time and faith
   You begged us to pen your trade.
We had no tale to stain
     Upon your thumbnail
You knew it, you did
      That caused you to laugh and
            We were sad
                Once.

We built an arbor to you, Water God
To trellis your faults upon- things
With vines
And fluted crisps that climbed
The fingers of spring- the lattice that never progressed
To a lazy dawn.
Spring froze- she simply - died
   So meshed in the vale, winter an
Empty progress
Leaving me damned-
Only winter.
That leaves you undamned-
The oddest sound that year could carry
Knowing that any rose could love you better
But no king finer
Not with the chardonnay sweetness of your lips
That does not end
Here

An apostle you should be.
To help me hide in your lips, your pulse
A solid statement
Protesting a morning that needed
to come

She borrowed your shoulders
Spently insane with crows feathers
Drifitng in fools charms- telling of
The voice that never was come

Twice I’ve crossed these streets, three times
Said grace

We wondered if the world would change before us
We did
It did red skin and sand
Time singing an eventual song
Bringing the siren to bended sound.
Can you remember the steps that formed
The Dance of our Pagan Selves-
Left foot, right foot,
               turn and
                            thrust-

The blackberry wine never-
I tell you - never
Sang a sweeter story
Than at night under the windy moon.