Among the stones

'twas the stone of a tomb
standing upright in the field
among the others standing tall

'twas simply a stone
looking back to the road
in the chilly eve of the Fall

couldn't have been
but the cast of a shadow
nothing else at all

couldn't have been
but merely an illusion
a trick to my eyes befall

there again it wasn't
quite the same color
as the rest of the sprawl

then again it didn't
reflect the sun as
the other stones in the Fall

pray, it also was
a shadow where there
wasn't a tree or a wall

pray, it was as well
a mist of a figure
its appearance its call

so perhaps it was
something other than stone
among the others standing tall

perhaps it might have been
something else entirely
looking back in the eve of the Fall

Worms and roots

they toil in the soil 

both the worms and the roots

the blood, the flesh

'tis their feast of choice

winding as laces through

a dead-man's boots

the force of death

courses through what's

underfoot to tempt

and snare with its

sparkling web

those drops of dew

that rain from shrouds

mournings of the past

shadows lap and savor

pools of tears and 

future fears, in frozen

tides they fall upon

their prey below

the viral sleep of the rotting

to devour us in

regrets, the birth of our deaths

tacking to the mire

trapping of desire the

whispers of worms and roots

Dug

how murderous one behaves
to become a refined digger of graves
knowing what earth to sink the spade
slicing through worms the metal blade

and what time to do the dig
when midnight wears its darkest wig
what depth to make the soiled bed
how to place the feet and tilt the head

then what lies to lay upon the hole
devouring the proof and bits of soul
to sweep the crime beneath the rug
this the reason the grave is dug

Paper birds

from the office window
take flight the paper birds
their pages of wings flutter
and shuffle through the breeze


up to the tallest branch
of the bending bundle of boughs
the paper birds soar and impale
themselves on the swaying hands


clutched and held so tight
the figuring of overdue debts
lap up the drops of night rains
and bleed onto the gold lawn below


ink stained tears into the mud
flows the words from 1948 year
when mom and pop shed their own
their tears now neither there nor here


and paper birds still roost there
weathered and plastered to their own
bleached and pure of words
the death and freedom of paper birds

Sight unseen

never wanted or
couldn't have turned
my head and glance away


so difficult to do
when there's no escape
from the sight unseen...
when bestowed the fly's
multifaceted pair of eyes


only one thing to do
when what isn't yet
or what's been again
grabs on to shoulders
whispers, shakes, then screams


they are the twinkles
that have traveled in time
in dark and cold and space
to show a figure drawn out
from dot to star to dot
penned upon cosmic sheets


they lurk in the ordinary
the everyday happenings
to be swallowed up unless
the sight's net plunges in
and pulls them safely
to digesting discernment


only then the pattern's path
unfolds the fern's bracket
in the warm Spring of view


only then are scriptures spared
and numbers flow freely
through the pollen laden air


never wanted or
couldn't have turned
away and missed the sight

Jargon jaunting: part dirt

spade spilled soil
clods, the clots
do glimmer glow
slug slathered slime
the creeping seeping creeps
feisty feasting fiends
yet halt the salt!
none at their tater table






damp dug dirt
rooms, the wombs
you excavate earth
for sown silent seed
the wriggly winding worms
favor tending friends
so weave the leaves
into their composting compote