Growing Down

I took little steps,
backward
and here I am again
stretched out on a sunny hillside,
a curl of dog at my side,
the wind drawing string off my spool.

Nothing From Nothing is Nothing

The creature of change—
prone to clean slates and beginnings anew—
either explains
or waits
for that perfect mate,
eager and empty-handed.

Magpie 94

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

                                          
                                      'Number Three'
                                         
                                         In close quarters

                                                       I guard my portions,

                                                       nibble,
                                                       mind the workings of my jaw,
                                                       wish for walls,
                                                       a fan,
                                                       some hullaballoo.
                                                       
                                                       Do you?

                                                                                                    S.C.

Magpie 92: 'Anoesis'



Magpie Tales 92

I dream above water,

yet,

somehow,

forget to breathe when our lips meet,

and come away each time,

gasping for air,

newly startled,
that you are not sustenance enough.

Moms and Boys With No Savings Account

I was thinking about my mother,
About me,
The big dreamer,
And how she’s always been there,
Believing,
At the foot of every new cross I decided to bear.

I’ve been thinking, too,
About the burden I must be…
The burden Christ must have been
To his mother, Mary.
And wondering,
If maybe we both should have put a little something away…

You know…

Just in case.

R.E.M.

A
I’m dreaming now,
one paragraph at a time:
rewind, rewrite, replay—
inching through the night’s possibilities.  

On Learning The Truth About the Lizard King

A
Reptilian brain, reptilian brain.

Please refrain, reptilian brain.

Anyway...

A
Still edgy.
Don’t tell me that it’s the weather.
I know better.
My days under the sun
are hardly different than my days under ice.
A jacket perhaps.

I last longer now.
Seven, eight hours...
before the unraveling.
I should set tools aside then; at first sight.
But who does?
I press for another hour.
Until something breaks.
And then curse my curse.