White Space I


Make a poem/unmake a poem
sometimes the words flow
others ice dams
jamming the drop
and the page below
remains lucidly clear
uncluttered
the page remains
tranquil/white
troubled only by the shadow
of the maker's empty soul.
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White Space II

Breath/apostrophe/unconscious
Breath
Apostrophe
Unconscious
to focus is to fear
to focus is to fall---
when the word comes
cold hands cover the mouth
the word is the enemy
the when/the where/the how
what you don’t hear didn't happen and
tragedy bypasses the deaf
it lurks in dark corners
waiting to crush the unsuspecting
a word and a whistle
unheeded/life proceeds
Unconscious of function
Unconscious of the inrush of air
word ceases and
tragedy bypasses the deaf
Breath/Apostrophe/Unconscious
Breath/apostrophe/unconscious
Breath
Apostrophe
Unconscious

el dia de los muertos

the dead don’t dream
but lie sleepless in tombs
meditating on the nature of flesh

and the fortitude of the

insomniate soul

the dead take no meat
but pass the time
in hungry contemplation
(or dreadful anticipation)
of the feast to come

the dead take no drink
but sip the dregs

of roads not taken
of opportunity passed
or grabbed up by the lapels
and shaken the dead don’t dance

until they rise.

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