mother's day morning...

laying flowers from her garden

on her grave

in bright squiggly lines,

sidewalk chalk leads to her stoop:

childhood love letter

christmas tree farm:

finding the perfect imperfect

mid-summers rain - 

walking the soggy poodle

to the takeout joint

the contented heart

remember that day...

 

wanting

 

nothing

 

i find myself 

at the climax of

the devoted monk’s

wet dream 

 

not even a tender back rub

enters my mind

 

not even two hands

spread over my face

 

wanting nothing

closing my eyes

opening my eyes

 

i wake up each 

morning in order to prepare 

my bed for sleep

each night

 

i sleep tonight,

and only tonight,

my dear, 

in order

to sleep tomorrow,

and only tomorrow,

my love

 

wanting nothing

especially of happiness,

of all things

or of any other nine letter

happening 

 

I've been holed up in

Here without an engine

To keep me running

 

So I learned to

drift with the dandelions

and with the

children's bubbles

and soon

birthday balloons

and deathday balloons 

and escape balloons

and mistake balloons

and we formed 

a mean gang 

and called ourselves

"more than hot air"

 

i brought each of them up

myself

making sure they

were truly ready 

for this life

 

and when 

they tried to mutiny 

I held them in line

With a rusty sewing needle

that you once used to 

fix a hole in my pants 

one 

spring 

day

 

and when it came

i descended

with all of us

dying

plastic

and string 

only to find

no place on the 

earth 

nor home in the ground

only 

an 

ocean 

 

tangled 

us 

 

now

i get out of the

shower and

scour my hands 

 

now

i kneel by my bed

and pray

for weakness 

 

Now

i stick my toes out

the door

and let the wind

do all the talking

 

For what use

does god have

for your contented

heart?

replacing the ribbon

on the telephone pole...

another year past