Sit Trust Fair

The new road

to the old moon

follows a line of wild hickories

and neon pizza lights.

A roadside cascade of orange tomatoes

splits its sides laughing

at chip paint billboards

promising a future home.

Shaded bricks bounce the bop

of a three piece horn section

like a juggler's ball

in the hand of a one armed dancer.

Everything in the sky

has wings and a song, listening

is forever. If the Son is behind your gathering cloud,

expect a rainbow. 

Street Fight

Messed up men on bicycles

riding like lost boys

after a DUI.

If there was a smile, the handlebars

pull it down to a bag of aluminum,

and sometimes a dog on a string whining.

Old Ginsberg mourned the best minds, but ordinary

johnnies and jims just take it out on someone

somewhere.

When the walk is all you got and all you got is on your back

you get it coming and going.

Cross in the street,cuss on the corner, count the ways

a missing Love chases the day

into night.

Splinter Group

First there is a path,
then a trail ,
always a mountain.

The smallest flower,
hidden in rocks,
attracts bees.

A fine pair of hands
put this bench in the woods,
to rest souls.

poem for Mario

Sweeping the floor,

I pick up three dimes.

Pennies, from heaven, inflated for modern

times.

God dropping coins in my path

adds up to eyebrows and ears lifted

to whomever I'm about to meet.

I get paid to pay attention.

It's a poets life, burnishing the jewels

of invisible crowns.

If you see me smiling,

it's because you are shining bright

as His polished mirror.  

from dust, where you played

Hooked on sky

dust rises to make music

of rainbows, bridges, and the things

water brings to the table set

before the sun.

Grace spins in spontaneous space

on the fingertip of His creation. We

don’t hear what hasn’t yet been played,

but it is written; every breath

from the mouth of God

is also a song.

Dipstick

Its only a shadow across the face of the moon,
the pull on us water born is from position,
not countenance.

The eary stillness,
in a field without lamps,
is the ebbing pulse of skulled oceans.

What we learn inside the dark illuminates,
there is no light of the earth,
only of the World.

We swim between stars in the blink
of an eye, all that quiet
making a name for our cells.

Wet Whistle

Where I went to hear

from God

was not necessarily nearer,

the dark wood, just a spoon

stained from stirring coffee,

the stars pulsing as I adjusted my eyes.

Where I went

to hear from God

was closer to the voices in my heart

than head, and although not a fan of horses,

I sensed them beating truth around the bend.

Where I went to hear from God

plumbed the water quick to creek cold,

a drop running wrist to elbow tickling trickle,

the tangent of attention reflected the ocean

as His smiling tears.