what sound would surface near the sound
near the end of winter’s statement
the iced-over suns unmoved gulls
chase gulls for morsels of mussel
what sigh from that sharp air what would
we hear if I said no thanks to that junk
on the horizon if I could tell what
I hid so well do I wait for the cold
green mornings to split into petals the
color of what’s buried taking thoughts
I would have wasted but what would it sound
like opening my mouth the way I
want do I keep carving notes on sheets
of ice as herons hide their necks
Tag: ice
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Forget what you know sit softly let
it lull you with the sound of hundreds
of pens simultaneously
writing up all those mistakes think of clouds
over that chasm you love Forget
it start again don’t think of that
tickle in your throat keep sharpening
your teeth we’ll see if we can’t find
a few layers of breathable
fabric as you start off Forget
the ad that’s still following you stinging
wind a heavy boot brittle grasses
brightly crunch give the pills a chance
while you stumble on ice in darkness
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It’s not as hard as you may imagine or have heard. Don’t believe what you’ve read. Have plenty of ice on hand. Take your time. Start on either side. Numb the top as much as possible then push it through, inside to outside. Next, do the same on the lower half when it’s sufficiently numbed. Slowly work your way up and down until you’re at the other end. Remember why this is so necessary. Remember what you are giving up. It’s hard to predict how people may respond. The thread should be black or red, but this is less important.
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yet into the clouds again
hoping to believe again in
those pure unbiddens before the
inception of assorted retirement schemesbut who wants to read
that either and no thislevitation is sustained by light
in early spring almost dawn
walks through wildflower waves youcan almost believe and just
about forgive your younger soselfish self that denied those
sunrises and why not build
another boat ask that itbe kissed in a hidden
spot on the port sideby a dark woman filled
with spring water and soon
loosed on the surge forsome distant honey or ice
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scratching at an image an inch beneath the ice of my chest
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
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what would it sound like
to walk out on the soundgulls chase
gulls for a bitthat sound
breathing
needlesso I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burstwhat thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf orbut what would it sound like
opening my mouth the waythe white heron hides its neck
am I too latedo I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice
other animals 