The heirs’ rumpled green clothes of
a dusty faced poet lounging

under, unacquainted, my not so
languid weakness;

the burning role, repleated gray,
through a parried absence.

The perforated dividing line and Davidian
chord around waist, bended,

decision, liaisoning with herds,
close, held to a foal high blight

of empty Zion’s wayless sleep.


A bloodless coo
I hear
on my hands

A mud flipped slew
I eye
on my lands

A rare balmed lip
I trip
in the stands

A birdless flue
I spit
on my hands

Where I Am

Where I am? in A haven today,
art along these silent shoes,
books by my halls,

Where am I? in A haven today,
music on the clock-radio
dust, sleeping street
of a sleeping view.

Where am I? in A haven today,
coloring in my family’s
lyric, small heart
of a consistent thump.

Where I am? in A haven today,
winds eat away the
windows I close, will
open up myself.