Music soldered his frayed nerves
building lofty towers
where coal mines had been,
a plaintive regeneration
a beckoning to flight.
The crack in the dashboard
allowed enough space to let go.
The Longship
I was blessed at the gas station today.
A sneeze was my entry to Valhalla,
complete with chocolate peanut butter eggs
and live bait.
Everything I need was within reach
for once. Including lighters and magazines.
Milk, bread, and tissues before the blizzard.
My pea coat held me contained
like a turtle. Afloat in conveniences.
Imagining the fierce flight of Viking ships
as I stood in the oily wind,
I pretended I was a warrior queen,
surveying plunder of Tastycakes and beef jerky.
A blessed journey continues. Achoo.
A delicate placement,
thoughts beneath soil,
beneath minutes
that may be eons in seedling time.
A yawning hum of strings
brushed by morning tongue
near fallen clouds,
near sticky beginnings.
A movement meant for sun
turning strong,
turning over a new plan
before breath is fully released.
The Dissolute
Shuffling in snow, exploring dissolution
before the sky clears.
There are few questions worth the trouble.
But what are loose connections?
Where do we find solace?
Does what we believe stay the same
even as we change shape?
I think I want to know things.
I haven’t found my favorite poem yet.
I think I’m supposed to keep walking.
Wings and gears
There were thirteen sparrows
somewhere besides here
and they were given gears
and serrated switchplates to help them fight.
Someone wrote about them,
mistaking the mechanisms and mania
for free flight.
A poem can fly without seeing;
I’d like to try looking down farther
than my feet but I’m afraid it’s just magma and shale. I’m not ready to be a fossil.
Give me wings and gears.
Who needs to be free?
The Word Rummager 