rain runs through the hills a harpsichord
Author: daveboyer
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before sleep
little storms in my jawbone
squirrels in my fingerson which the secret fall
falls onwillows and other
memories sold
the fairy tale homea trail of stars
to shelter fresh
organs made of glasswho needs all this change for the
better bury me in styrofoamthe song crickets compose ever new light blue stars
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morning clean a free breeze bruises still there but in soft light something about omelets better coffee perhaps a walk in that park we’ve been meaning all through the day carry a small splinter that sparkles later in the meeting we easily talk about our supposed subject matter though the shadow of the looms large we still laugh cobble jokes from horrible headlines and yes I saw your post and clicked the appropriate button but tomorrow I will unfollow you
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a fish through the hands will write a list of future accomplishments gulp the last tepid tea and remember I’m somehow the narrator though my training is in watch repair once a thriving industry in days when many people were killed by and these days you don’t know who to believe when you take your pants off but that’s the way it’s always been at least when you climb that tree to look at the moon you can just remember the sound of the first sparrow through her curls
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I say the name but hidden in brown fields green peeks its head around the corner. She lets the light back slowly as ever. We are heavy with eggs. Nests being assembled. The wide water is clear and dark and deep inside something undeniable stirs.
trying to hold on to one thing in the mind with hands too small
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build a little temple in the well of the clavicle golden light honey fig bread wine maybe this book will run through the clouds we see tending to the is it only animals who live on the mountain
storm in the forecast & all these chapped lips for the best adverbs to fry up this or any other burger so why does it have to fill up the whole page ants build cities with mouths as small as we could wish for
where a tooth unrecognized as rotten should worms long to chew as though a star covered in gauze in the forest shout what from the shadow of a younger life of a beneath centipedes cry and yes still these empty hands in the snow
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other people’s postcards
and the problems you carried from home but
with new hats in the shop they said you
must visit after something muttered
about the mountain air some vista orchirps back and forth in brightening dark cold coffee
though later and once the music mercifully
stopped and after the little chapel was
broken down and the beams
turned into pens for disappointed
tourists the sound of the little fountain
carried us
awayif we knew where we might go the precious
shell the shadow inside
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just the normal kind of socially sanctioned stupid. Nothing vicious. Just someone who’s looking for. Sure, I could give you some advice, but you’d never take me seriously with this haircut and the auction’s about to end. That’s the thing about our planet at this late stage—outbid again—damn. What’s a person have to do to—what was I saying? Something about how it sticks in your eye and can sometimes catch the light just right & a rainbow—what’s that? No, you’d never make it. They watch our every move
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Fruitless Investigation
With the light fading, you need to know how shallow it is.
Some limbs grow back if cut and stars paint the black with exuberant death but here it’s squirrels eating pizza.
The wet grass between your toes may produce a giggle, but water up to your knees?
The trick is to keep biting the rope as they pull you from the volcano, rather than laugh, which will be your first impulse.
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Sometimes you start
with a blank page other times
there’s no choicethe world before
you were bornprefers a simple table
salt, pepper, a clean glass
still water and when
voices risewalks out to the balcony
thinks about the cigarettes we
smoked and flicked without thoughwe would never imagine
doing that today with all thein the air and settling
down into the roots of your hairyou hardly need the stones
as you walk into the lake
other animals 