Lawnmower / Guitar

Lawnmower string / guitar heart–
pull, strum, start then stop the song.
It’s dead grass. Its broken neck.
B-chord specks. Shades of saffron.

It’s dandelion season–
one reason to sing with blades.
Grass frets yet begins anew.
Rotors drone through spring. Charades.

 

(originally published in The Road Not Taken, Summer 2016)

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Cicadas

The cicadas come at night, after you
fall soundly in the trance of your booklight,
buzzing pages. Forget, there’s no undo.
The cicadas come at night,

arriving several years apart despite
love’s hindwings clung to bark whose heart is true.
We burrow in those pages craving sight

and air and words– we gather in droves to
kiss your hand though you think it is a bite.
We wait years and always return to you.
The cicadas come at night.

 

(originally published in The Road Not Taken, Summer 2016)

Bicycle Wheels, Empty Parking Lots

The spokes on the wheels
spoke of hyperspace tunnels
we could fall into forever
suspended in orbits
circling, circling.
We spoke of forever,
how short that is.
Spoke porcelain
bowls smoked joints
made points
in German accent jokes.
Spoke grass tones.
Spoke of bed
dreams of bed
in red made-up languages

we woke we spoke we
never learned we
joked we hoped we spoke
our smokes I watched
you smoke we
sucked lips
(turpentine kissed)
all that time we
spoke smoke we

don’t speak of that now

 

(originally published in Beechwood Review – July 2015)