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Posted by nah

FOUNDATIONAL LOVE NARRATIVE


None of it makes sense 
but I do it anyways
little drunk wolf eyes peering out 
from inflamed lids
you’re all grayness and redness 
half alive but I feel so 
alive with you
like a kiddo my laughter 
comes out water 
sparkling sprinkler waves
a whole monumental fountain 
for public bathing 
unafraid except of want -- 
knowing it might 
take me across
and then how would I 
get back

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Posted by nah

EMERALD CITY FUNERAL MARCH


I can still see your house 
from mine
and the chasm where 
the post office was
the hill was important
crucial blackberry zone
lies about the Dairyqueen parking lot 
terminal gasps of a city
black eyed susan deadhead stalks 
salmon metaphors work good 
where did the people go
where do they come from
the river is on fire but 
the fish stay put 
glass and glass and glass 
the tank outside of the classroom
if you were good you got to 
monitor the eggs, wait for growth
lazy daze walks up and down
tracking signs that claim
how much time is left
Dis N That boutique, Pho Beef Noodle
the Starbucks on Rainier 
saintly status now that it’s gone
old men played dominoes there
the new place is OK if you’re willing 
to be a computer - like me today -
I opted for the chrome as well
it contrasts with white tile
so clean, the pastel autumn palette 
of fibrous garments
fresh metropolitan motherhood
ochre, salmon, pale ass sky blue
me too! again, and also
but childless baby spice
pigtails and fine lines
antioxidants and lip smackers
anyways I can still see
your house from mine
the Jo Jos we ate on the curb
the ways we are the same
coat our fingertips in seasoning 
it works for a second 
devour the crumbs
as everything passes

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Haiku 2

You left your imprint
Dry saliva on my cheek
I can't stop smiling
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January 31 Poem: Last


Started slowly
uncertain and unclear

Managed to make it
half-way

Keep moving on
Light lifted from grey

Now the end is near
and "last" is the final word I hear
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Doves

The only sound that day was chickens
Determined clucking sticking to the hillside
Oh, the wind that day, too
Finding spaces between branches  to whistle
It all died down, the whistles, the clucks,
When your corpse slid onto the screen
Dead and somewhat purple
Cheeks caved in as an old chapel
Dedicated to saints we don't pray to anymore
Maybe Julian the Hospitaler
Patron of pilgrims and childless people.
Or Peregrine, probably,
Who prayed his cancer away.
The chickens, the wind,
They know when you need a moment.
And then that dove, on the summit,
Circling my head like a mirage.

I dreamed I was on my pilgrimage.
I left early in the evening
From a Spanish albergue
And there were chickens in my way.
I picked one up and wrapped her in my arms
Her body more fragile than expected
Her trust much easier to earn than I deserved.
I whistled as I walked to the beat of clucking
And I did not think, "I'm glad I am not dead."

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Posted by nah

PICKUP STICKS


old man hands
thick with water
fast like hummingbirds
sometimes your hair
stands straight up
I laugh because
I love you and 
it’s funny how 
my caring 
is so caged
then releases
in these happy 
cascades like
the trippy, skippy 
walks home 
past all  the curtained 
living rooms 
of tired people 
watching things

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Posted by nah

arrange coaster fragments
call it a poem
scatter ant poison 
call it a poem
split the tip
call it a poem
stab the blood blister
call it a poem
cry while you run
call it a poem
do bathtub laundry
call it a poem
take ragged selfies
call them each poems
what if you were courageous
call it a poem
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January 30th: Maybe



Jotting down notes
while plans are up in the air
ready to drop and land on my head
"BONK!"

I feel wavering "yes"es fall around me
and splash into growing puddles of "maybe"s
forming beneath my feet

only

I sink like a boat struggling
on its final voyage
in a sea of "no"s
that drown those
once-so-sure plans
in the darkest depths of
unpromised tomorrows

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If You Took Cooking Away From Me

I don't make lists anymore,
every new dish a dawn,
and events the practise
of mirror movements,
synchronous with the ghost
trailed last one,
are we catching up
did we fall behind,
but this too will pass,
everything will be ready,
taste buds fried,
like retinas by the sun.
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Safe As Houses

Remember icicles? And how mid-month
my back is snow done and now I haven't shovelled
in years so I find other ways to
contort my body in my fallow month
finding other methods to groan about the house,
I'm often homeward bound and this month
is the month of binding, I should knock out all the floors,
and the stairs, live in the basement, so high the sides
of the nest so when the snow comes for me
and the neighbour asks did you shovel yet,
will you shovel yet, I can trace in condensation,
on slit windows, abandon hope all ye who,
actually no, back in the spring - "stretching".

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Noise

In concert
With beige & auburn acrylics 
Brassy floor lamps
A hulky armoire
Harbor to braided candles
Tenement of chopsticks
Stained placemats
Carefully denuded wrapping paper

Tuned in the key of
Opera scales on the fire escape
Ambulant chatter
Ewing’s flubbed floater
Radiators beaten with shadowy fists
No mercy
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