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Grace

Placid waves

wash warm

Over toes, knees,

belly to breasts.

Drink in sun.

Float

cotton-candy clouds

framing

rose,

lemon,

sapphire

sky.

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After the Storm, 6 A.M. East 7th Street

DSC00680 Pale silver sky
reflects on black iron.
Fire escape raindrops
slowly illuminate
this visceral world.
Birds’ babble,
laughter
rises with mist
from the street below.
I smile and
close my eyes
in calm satisfaction.

I lie still
between soft, worn
cotton sheets,
above spring verdant trees,
mahogany branches,
as lemon glimmers
among
sapphire clouds.
I know the secret
of tiny mosaics
and that
magical
pink metal
laundry box
in the bathroom.
The fire escape ladder,
is my tree house
framed by wet-dark branches
and cobalt curtains.
The rain-bejeweled
fire escape
will take me
directly
to heaven.

Hamburg & Russell Street

Morning,

the young beggar stands,

blanket thrown over narrow shoulders,

flimsy white undershirt,

a pile of rags at his feet.

We in cars ignore him,

cast eyes at ruby stop light,

and rising cobalt sky.

Escaped sunflower,

sits in a car, a

moon faced woman

w/ styled bob,

reads her cell phone.

Wheeling seagulls

search for garbage.

Undershirt,

dull khaki jeans,

work boots,

he smokes the 2nd cigarette of the day,

carefully counts them out.

He carries his sign

with jaunty steps,

but

his eyes

are hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

full moon recall

dream
salt sea foam
clams scurry
dig themselves
into sand
as the waves recede
we are young
i wrap
burgundy and cobalt
gauze scarf
about my torso
my nipples show
i reach out
to touch
your silken sandy curls
as cigarette smoke
sinuously rises
your voice rumbles
weakens my knees

Laundry

Horizon eats sun,
bursting tangerine.
Bold azure,
golden sky,
I pick up the laundry.
Night steals in,
blueberry cloud patches
brushes cornflower dome sky.
Laundry bag slung over shoulder
I gaze
above the knoll of weapons.
Pale rotund moon
strangled gently
by
silver
spider
strands.

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Crossing Patapsco Valley

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Bridge ahead,

moving mists

hover above it.

Tantalizing

changelings,

or drifting souls,

dare me to drive

through

and beyond them.

I hesitate in apprehension

and reverence.

The clouds roll and seethe

in waves and mountains.

I step on the gas.

Metamorphosis

awaits.

Release

I will not keep

the rose and ochre

shells

and ebony skate egg case.

I’ll throw them back

to the sea.

Release

and

redemption.

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hell and God’s right hand

“I am traveling

through the fires of hell

to God’s right hand,”

said Dan.

I knew little of his journey, but

one time he told me,

“Dad would

knock us upside the head,

beat the shit out of us.”

Then Dan joined the army.

I do not know more of his passage,

how Charon ferried him across

and how he bribed his way out

pass Cerebus’ three heads.

But

here and now,

we are

in this church of light,

learning to sit

and stand

and move in space,

learning to hear

and see

and touch

all over

again.

 

Cradle

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Cradled in my lover’s embrace,

I dreamt of a world.

Verdant earth, azure sky,

sun warming the gentle breeze,

children shouting with joy.

3/25/2015

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