It's only me
I dream these things
cast nets into nothing
only I know what I mean
I die hungry for something.

A merry sight, we
two ravens akimbo
doing the limbo
straight out adjacent schemes
a long line locked and travelling
oh spinning light eyelessly
Behold us!
No, it's only me.

Easter Poem

Did you see, my son?
Holy unflowing enfolded earth,
her billion blossoms brazenly bursting
to cast wanton loveliness all over
our crooked, unhaunted graveyard gardens.

Spring is the sore spot in the cycle-
the old frozen must be unfolded
and thrown into her tremulous pheonix fire.
Her rose-peach glow goes through us
We die back, sinking and slithering down
to the sour stink of our tomb / womb
where we slowly gather the green again.

But don't worry, and be ready,
for the red queen comes again
and again she bestows the resuscitation,
gathering our glad ashes up and up
back into her godblessed gentle branches.

Didn't you see her, my son?
She peeping through white winters,
her leering over beautiful bare shoulders
while you averted your eyes, as did I,
lest we little boys be cut down to size.

But! so far as her April wet sundries aspire,
go and stand in her sovereign eyeline,
beholding the bloomed moon blindingly
reflected through all of your hurt-heart places.

Oh great joy!  Greatest pain!
We extend tender shoots toward the rain
as life begins to turn her germinate gears again.