Sunday, March 31, 2013

seasoning the time

the pendulum sways
inside its house of seasoned wood
it waits at the top of the stairs
ticking off the seconds
between breath and breath,

exhale, complete, below
the clock-face that stays
full and bloated, above the landing
like a perfectly circular
seed, above the noise

that is the pendulum
the pendulum that
waits and so do i
(at the bottom of the stairs)
as the seconds slide, stretch by

and the clock face
does not rise
(like the moon)
but stays fixed there
(in the sky)



Sunday, March 3, 2013

lying moment

floating luminescent orb
of the moon
dances outside my window

for only a moment
it is there
captured through the red

velvet curtains of skin
that are my eyelids
I open them

and the afterimage glimmers still
I hurry down-stairs
opening the front door

 to find the glow of a streetlamp
its bulb fluttering with moths
as they press their wings

(scent of their burning
filling the night air)
to its hot surface

trying to find something
warm to hold

and I go back into the house
and draw my red curtains

and try to find again
that lying moment