1 New Poem

Rogue Sparks

Coming this way is cigarette ember,
put out on metal
receptacle ridge, wetted down with
ocean air and admiral fell
promises of evening balm,
of little flickers in pyre
wood, piled delicate between
sense memory of excitement
tied up with whipping chords

Of four-walled days, drawing
sense coming back metallic,
distorted, watery, no longer recognized.

To go out chasing,
the skywriting of surprise,
bowing to boot wash

But glowing there a
second more, the same
as ever.

1 New Poem

The Music Study

The fuse, the spark
was drawn out on matching
tables for the theatrics
of it all:

All-dancing showcase
of pastime blues, grinning
with new-wed promise,
grinning with minded property.

As it was drowned in shadow,
growing faint, weary as
tides scrape on sea-glass,
a cry came:

Spared of all evening’s cold,
dulling sense with floated radiation
warmth these are not a making
of dreams except as test patterns.

Coming up, a cleaner place
of it was made for mirrored
time, a hunting whiff of
old things leaving:

Like tragedies, staged readings,
the jig is danced to float
about with accordion breath,
not a pen-scratching sense.