Safe from the Storm

You miss most of the storms.
The sky flashes in the east
out of the dark broth behind
the purple budding trees
down the street. The wind
flaps at you with empty hand,
all of its knuckles thumping
the mud in the next country.
You stand on your porch with
only the breath of the storm,
a little too aware
of the madness of the world
to even think to give thanks.

On Learning of the Evolution/Creationism Debate Taking Place At PSU

What it’s really about is
each of our own magic
spheres of personal space
and the ghosts that orbit
around inside of them.

Some of us are cloaked
in a bath of invisible
angels and crackling
flashes of spirit-sent
power and purpose.

Some are infiltrated
by the Earth, the breath
and the dirt, the heart
beating it’s music out
since the beginning, unknown.

May the winner be brave!
When the ghosts learn
they can breed outside
the spheres, they become opaque
with pride, and our eyes darken.

The Hawk

One day, a hawk flew into the warehouse.
Everyone worked slower after they heard
and asked when they passed each other,
"have you seen the hawk?"

There's a pair of wild eyes watching
from the iron beams in the ceiling,
and the whole building becomes new.
You watch the ceiling for the hawk.

When I finally saw it, I had almost
stopped looking for it. But I looked up
once more and saw it perched
on the red rafter before it dove down.

It sailed like a wraith and I felt
my chemistry coil up in my flesh
and go sour when it wouldn't take hold.
Then the hawk flew back up and disappeared.

Bad Tea

Too much water:

Old sandbox--
the castle's kingdom
spread thin.

A cup of bathwater beside
a neat, unopened bag:

Smoking by the pool--
the geese take over
the water.

Steeped too long:

The lonely man prays
until the single women
have all gone home.

Bad water:

Through the smog,
a rippling orange
sunset.

Sexual Frustration

I

Eventually, you start to have dreams
about the time you moved past her
in the bathroom and the back
of your hand happened to brush
her pubic hair and you both
noticed the other noticing
and the room warmed a little.

II

Sometimes you want to offer up
praise to the bodies of women.
YouÂ’d sing about the neck
where it curves up under the base
of the ear. YouÂ’d exalt collar bones
and toes and the skin visible
underneath the eyebrow. YouÂ’d extol
the shape of the towel sheÂ’s wrapped
herself in and the wet, wrinkled fingers.
YouÂ’d sing it to the skies
and imagine Aphrodite kissing
you back with ancient gratitude.

III

Your body is an engine on
an iron stilt, running...
running....