When A Human Loves A Cat

He’s not even my son.

He’s not my flesh and blood.

Not my species or countryman.

He can’t utter a word of human language.

And yet I love him with all my heart and soul,
every ounce of my being.

My strange genetics to his ancient, long genetics,
laid there right across the universe,
side by side in this unfathomable miracle of
the same moment in time.

I say it with courage,
I say it ready to crumble in endless
sentient, fecund melancholy…

I love you Bleuets.

Serve the house of the masters
to destroy the masters,
undo their myths.

The little, mighty cat.

Pussy On Hand

The scent of
your pussy on my fingers
makes the drive out to the country
even purer
in the morning
with the mid-morning sun
still working its way up into the sky
burning off the last of the dew
on the green and yellow
wavering tallgrass

The coiled fibers of tallgrass
remind me
of the small curly blonde hairs
bunched around the sides of
your forehead,
weedling undergrowth
aside your larger strands of
golden brown hair

The tallgrass speaks to me to be
sentient and live

Love Of Relativity

You call it 23 hours
the past day we spent together.
I call it a lifetime.
That is how our moments feel.
These relative things.
Do I have the courage to live them?
Lives that come, go, and pass.
But I plan to see you again for
another era,
O spirit still spinning in my heart
into
the stars.
The stars have left us spinning
forever.
As us,
within us,
across us,
between us.

I can’t reach your lips.
Your eyes always celebrate Spring
in their blue windows
and still see sadness in the world.
Heavenly mortal.
Into
the stars.
Eviscerated.
But living here, now.

The Crystal Day

It is crystal the dream and day
after
knowing love.
But
why not ceramic
that holds wine and water
in preparation for solace
and sustenance?
Why not terracotta
for thousands of years
perfect for vessels,
made of the earth,
sign of the village?

Crystal clears and obscures,
stops, splits, and opens light
infinite and fixed
so as the nature of the universe,
mysterious by its own instruction set,
unanswerable — though inert
and living.

(Being, having been, vanished…
and continuing to be)

The day after the crystalline
dream
of love
I seek a pitcher
to store and pour
my water,
that I should not thirst.

That I should see you
when you speak,
speak the universe’s psalms

raining everywhere.

Five Thousand Mornings

The bridegroom hopes
in the morning
under stars.

The peacock stirs.
The songbirds yet sing.
The metal to become the ring
still in the ground.
The stars turn around.
Is it be blue or gold
they bring?
Sun-veiled rainy skies
or the eyes and hair
of a Germanic maiden
against the side of his dark skin,
five thousand
mornings forward.

The day turns.
The songbirds have to sing.
And time now his only companion.
The bridegroom becomes a master.
One part man.
One part woman.

Love In The Sky

I loved the moon last night
how I love you

Tracing curves
Trailing trails

It caused something deep in my heart
casting light
across
oak trees and prairies

something profound and proliferous
for glass creatures below

Its warm lit glow
reminding my neurons
the power in
I love you
and what belongs in a dominion
of breath

It moved tallgrass
sang wind-songs
Spread translucence
much greater than itself

It became love in the sky
there before
my pained, mortal eye

Its heavenly voyage made you be
the homestead of my earth

Yea though it created a moment in time
in space
an era of life verily unto thee

Yes, Different Places Together

Make us separate at dawn,
again your skin tone has turned
to the sunset’s wheat.
We are dried goods on different ships
… I’ll admit
my crew would trade me for you.

Fall with the sea-spray
on the sand of your back.
My mud has hardened
for the tractors to crush underneath
the chores
of a construction worker’s morning.
They are building another
award-winning hotel
for you to sleep in —
your affairs with the sundown.

You, in a grown woman’s body,
have forgotten the nursery rhymes
of your father,
but an older father blessed you
with lips of grapes and beliefs of vine,
so I watch you
give foliage to rocks,
to un-named planets,
so these stars above lose their names
in the death of naive civilizations.

Cassiopeia spilled her secrets
to the bureaucrats of God and the
scientists at Bell Labs
… so as they did in another galaxy,
they will do us in.

Winter Won’t Kill You

But the winter won’t kill you.
Winter is life.
You’re dead.

Your crystalline face
buried deep in the soil of my soul.

What is the soul,
but everything remembering everything?
Hark here old druids.
Hark here, let it be known.

I kissed you under a street lamp
in the Upper East Side
around midnight,
got busy with my hands
in your tight hot pink panties.

The aristocrats dreamed.

We kissed in a field in Texas.
Always passionate kisses in the throws of sex.

I was 26 years old when I ran down
the streets of New York City
in my hiking boots
at a six-minute mile pace
with her by my side,
months before
you and I would meet each other.

Who is she?
Who are you?
What is this?

It’s in the soil.

I don’t think you’re in the City anymore.

You may be in Vermont, or that could be
our ghost.

But the winter won’t kill you.
Nothing will.
Hark here old druids,
let it be known.

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings

past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun

I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the ambient white light

I trust the past has melted

I sit in the den

The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above


from Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

The Femme Templar

To have my face
between your legs

is to give back to the world
all that has gone wrong with it.

It is to make a self-disolving offering
to the spirit of the feminine
that has been kidnapped, taken away,
and not allowed to prosper and bloom
upon this sorely misled planet.

It is to sit there in a body of masculinity
on my knees
at the base of all that is right and good
with civilization,

to repent and make the prayer in flesh for a new era,

to say how much I utterly love you
and the way that your body tastes down there,

to ask for a better way of living,
to taste the essence of this promise.