in a place mossed over Lilith
Sternin-Crane in a blue teddy
a moment of stillness almonds
the sound of gulls again gone from
my mind the spell broken next door
still watching that show about angry
people I guess the pen rolls I
put it back it rolls away mountains sharp
slippery as serious faces lean
over balconies and argue
about justice drains overflow
we won’t know until the apostrophe
little waves of a gently rough
sea her hands finally on me
Tag: hands
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Once you’re reasonably seasoned
I want to complain about my
hands and the where and what that they
have failed to do no matter which
precipice certain delicatepapers have been balanced upon
today which way they flail is of no
grey matter for any of us
as the storm threatens from each point ofthe compass rescued from the bright
dust at the bottom of a mound
of sticky surreal boxeson the outskirts of a
once-distinguished suburb
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what they whisper about his long beach walks counting
shells shattered pristine empty clam mussel razorthus we may inch closer to the secret of his
much lauded carrot cake muffin smoothie vape cartSometimes just the shine of a new pen the thin tic
picking up my glasses a cloud now and then anda few winter visitors Brant
Loons Mergansers and BuffleheadsThough the problem really began in my nose. It
was a warm, obvious sort of day and I askedwhere do they go and what do they hope to achieve
hiding behind the instruction to keep the eyeshut and use that special salve two times a day as
though the softness of her hands but keep the door locked
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All of the Above
the epic I am planning as I shop for pens
with golden accents. Perhaps if not for the dog’s
unspeakable licking. But at the end
of the day what.I know that look the crab apple
felled by lightning. So many deardead dogs later still in one piece
and place hands empty soif the usual resins from a walk
through the oldish pines should refuse easy
removal there are two options neitherof which but these days with the funnels we
must wear though who would know as long as you
can smize through hours of unneeded meetingslike one of those knives for chestnuts
which gave her hunting a slight edge
so she fed and bred better her
descendants had the same feature
that time licked into the precise
claw you see before youthen brave the cloying perfume of
seeping garbage trucks to catch a
meager and reluctant yes you
can cut them off or use this corrosive
but how will you feel one day when feet are
back in fashion
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Sonnet
what prize did you hope to hold in those smooth
hands for the plan sketched in cloud and unbuilt—
what melody might have flown forth if you
freed yourself from petty politics of
the boardroom and tested those scrawny wings—
but you sat with a job safe as socks and
a single number near the cold solsticenow in the damp the aches where you bend while
those black glacier teeth topple in tepid
tea you mumble to the cat it wasn’t
all bad these bloody feet could still march this
hand salute the lurking shadow who smiles
at the coughing cubicle dwellers soon
to be churned into cheap fertilizer
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no more synthetic motor oil
milkshakes from now on just
the nectar of golden
suffocation under a sudden
shower of compliments
for a one-star reviewand my hands remain clean. Though
this knife of yearsand never chose to explain. To this day
nothing grows there
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at the organic cafe unsure of your unwrinkled hands scraggly long hair scraping fine features the constellations of pimples your rough shirt dark stained apron standing tall and to the side you grant a glance and goddess you were all beauty pink cherry trees burst and burst my eyes wide as fried eggs
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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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like an ancient carved alphabet or breakfast free from human hands while this spark lasts whistle past new double glazing fit for middle management
other animals 