Yarn

And if I climbed your stairs

What would I find

A hollowed out apartment, a protruding root, and an eagerness for all things yellow?

To walk your streets and find

Patterns and years and near your neck a freckle.

To be foggy without a cloud in the sky and

A hammering beats a rhythm

 

As It Comes To Me

What strumming what absurdity

An absent minded chill down the back of your calf

A tickling grief in the bottom of your teeth

When you chew what is it you will swallow?

 

-A chorus a bridge and a broken string-

 

It’s been months since the paper breeched the stoop

An article of alarming satisfaction

Within reach of your touch is what we call home

 

-In the cupboard, paintbrushes and a print-

 

A courting of eastwardly boundaries

An increase in the wetting of your toes

And at the corner of your mouth, a suggestion

 

-The assembly stated these are issues better addressed later-

 

To continue on in an act of desperation

A shout of enduring health

When you bring tea it must be loose leafed

 

-The words left unsaid can be found in the drawer with the spices-

 

Scat, or a collection of vowels in your pocket

Unsure, unused, we make our way to the table

On the left, always on your left, near to the heart

 

-When one is a hole they best stop digging-

On A Hot Day

The source continues to filter out these thoughts.
What was it i was going to say?
It must not be important.
However, in this light your silhouette is exhausting

Reconciled to or too

What will you hold on to
The items in your pack
The coins in your pocket
The thoughts, the memories
A responsibility to serve

How will this fit together
Like a mother and her purse
Like a bus route to work
Like the apples balancing in the store
And I touch you for readiness

The things we observe
We ask, what is the purpose
Or a seeking for answers
But direction is more of a feeling
A sense of things to come

An Affinity For All Things Golden

These gaping standards serve
A decaf of words left stale
Spectacles of shoes for you to gaze
And to the left a constant criticality

Please do not sweep in this place
Tables do not employ but raise
Muse me your foreign language
I cannot speak cannot understand

It is growing from the corner
Our screens over run with weeds
It is not distance but a lack of proximity
When you are there I am not where I wish to be

A Kite in Your Clouds

A reading of holes
reveals
this is deeper than previously assumed
hang here
this line waits
ending a night starting
keystrokes

this melody haunting
as if from a cup
holding above green
grounds our feet
what great awareness
what great vice

Sitting Upright

Your space is flowing word like
Trickle through, there is nothing here
An empty page, alone type set

Look the ink is on you
A south paw curse among us
A broken clip slips down

This will carry me to tomorrow
A sustenance of syllables
Singing clearly me me me

Feet Move Free

There is space in the middle
Your touch can go here
I hold gently this book
And watch your hands on the wall
Each page grains again
Feeling memories crunch
Tickle and blow away

Bound

This hand goes red around the corner
A box labeled here absent-mindedly disappears
Why do clocks tick and not move
Dry walls stick numbers round
And your feet move stairs
This fall the davenport will change
The floors repaired renamed and you
restored

A Photographic Journey Through Santa Ana

here are the shots from trip to visit Leo and Taty Rapini in their new home of Santa Ana.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sperez/sets/72157622255318959/