on hold
leaving from my window
the day is a closed book
i’ve seen the signs before, velvet
and a blue that antagonizes
where the finishing stain
of orange steeped in vodka
will never chase the cold
making excuses for warmth
and maybe once
i’ve slept a bit, fast broken
as sleep and wakes can be
you will become no less dear
on reflection, a pale birch
threshes the nearly blue
coaxing stuck windows
into skittish bird wings
and i want it so
desperately to give name
to something abandoned
to loving against all losses
this was in autumn
with so many bruises
and fading lights
that grass became delicate, livid
swaying through fireworks
near your hands, potentials
with explosives parting
and parting in the effort
to remain bonded, unwounded
which was the dream
but how could leaves know
that falling is just
built in like shelves
mired in tchotchkes, dirty glasses
flooded in broken yellows
that smear the ground
with contact points of struck matches
rocketing back and forth
carrying their last message
post no bills
keeping my shoulders
carved in prayer
pushing like ice-cutters
through cigar lines cast
from the beige estate car
idling catty-corner
in mutual magnificence
of prowling vapor
these petrified wonders
make redemption obvious
by weight of smaller delights
there! a foot catching
the root sum of a tree
again! a folded wing
hushing at our tears
and creasing eyelids
what grew from the peaks
of our brows made new
tirade of delicious portions
you saw it first, my double
partner doubting at stars
just yellow sodium, you say
what heaven wants
signage like this?
Alien Buddha Press 