hours

neon break

Neon Yellow Beer Morning

This wide open
sky
an echoed moon
on barely born hours
my couch
sitting watching
half moon, half
sky
half azure
half self –
light advances
neon
on surfaces
gilded by miracle
this pure instant
when no one
is watching.

counting the ideals

Sleep Modern Poetry

Now that I have
a can of soup
I have been guaranteed
a few more lingering hours
perhaps days

 

my ambition is to do nothing
because everything is worthless
and by knowing this
I can stay peacefully alone in
the alcove of anonymity

 

my ideals
were a roll of bills
I accidentally found
on my way to sleep
unmarked and eager
to be poured into
the greedy hands of the city

 

I have spent them all
while meticulously counting
the days to my impending
poverty

 

now I have a can
of soup
and all the time in the world
to be
sound asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

contemporary poetry

Tinges of blue

 

 

I left the office shy of two o’clock

gaining inside a shudder that could reach

just beyond the boundary of solitude.

              I raised this old neck of mine

                           the sky was me.

Belonging to dreams we no longer dare to glimpse

               futures too powerful too bear

fears that out of plain habit

covered me like husks of wisdom.

So eternally blue – with the intensity of an S

similar to the smell of dawn, depths of now

                                      bright as selflessness

        blue as sky.

A kind of rejoicing, a mystic’s forgotten book

                                       and the glory of erased words!

TO return, live a thousand sleeps

                       one more lonely death

varying degrees of godless hours

                                  those dissipated moments

hungry of freedom, so easily obscured.

               Bury me in lands of mute plants.

Blind pasts, unimportant futures.

                 The sky was me, I turned

I had gone away… hands overflowing possibility.

Go back to Beyond Language

Wonder Eye

Could we motion our awe
present it hourly along our way
Could we breathe in astonishment
the minutes streaming by
As the moon today is half-dipped
in the layers of blue crisp sky
We must throw away legions,
innumerable attempts,
since it is mostly rare
that we define existence
             by wonder
If we could raise our eyes
as frequently we raise our cups
the impenetrable azure
or the eternal dark
may become one day
             our source of belonging