Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

imagine every other stanza is tabbed over a tad...also the prompt was "Who are you?"

Walking down the hallways
of Longmeadow Street
mythologies of autumn
and scarves like time around my neck
winter is passing and
there is another six inches.

Wind and violins
orchestras stoke that
flue inside the living room:
empty save constellations
of fires unused or
passed--where is the
synaptic drive
where are we going?

Ancient myths like
stars like finding, telling:
this is an island this
hand holding mine, this,
mine. Winter again
and another six inches
fill the coffee cup.

Open city, love. Open
city holding mine
though when it breaks, it
breaks holding cities
holding mine: warm
full like quick cups
of coffee

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Once, though, we were soft.
And terrible was the thought
of hindrances and winter
though I loved the idea of snow
covering our sweaters--
we, hiding inside our belts, our waistcoats
tough, which once we were.
The country, the wine,
and indelible the company,
when suddenly swiftly they go
out the door and out to
the country yet again.

Terrible that thought of
yesterday. Bits of salt
transformed into pieces
of cork floating in the
waves of wine. Soft, love.
Hold hands and sway slowly.
Take your temples in your
hands and sway.