The Letter

I wrote the words
no one else could hear
in a letter

A secret went
out
an arrow released
a burden too heavy
now shared

I have fallen

I had no choice

But I did

I have yet to learn
to cup
loneliness
in the palm
of my solitude

Espiritu Carnal

Megan and I had dinner with Fred and his new wife Bev last night at Rosa’s. We sat at a table covered with brightly patterned tiles that caught and reflected the raucous light. Mariachis trumpeted a sad ballad. Mexican calendars for sale on a far wall displayed Aztec warriors on summits of volcanoes standing over virgins while others portrayed saints rising in rapture: some hot with plumes of passion and mango sunset -- others cool, blue, spare, full of ethereal mystery. Sex or purity? Which would I hang on my wall? We talked about how naked the desert feels, how bare, empty -- how cacti have to be spiny and toxic to survive. Then the food came. We ate cheese melted on tortillas, scooped up mounds of Spanish rice, refried beans, greasy chips. Salsa burned. Bev washed it down with a diet soda, Fred a root beer. I swirled the Negra Modelo in the bottom of the bottle, dark as molasses. Fred’s eyes welled when he invoked Donna, his first wife, who died two years ago. Bev held his arm. He said he wanted to see Donna again, and felt that he would. Megan talked about the afterlife as I scraped at melted cheese that felt like it had been welded to the plate and tried to imagine death. I knew Megan would choose the saint to hang above her altar. I put my arm around her and felt my hand pass through her as it would through mist. She talked about the body and the soul and the impermanence of things. I looked at the streaks of gold in her hair, the curve of her neck. I hoped that later we would make love. Fred said time had no beginning and no end, that it was a giant circle. He knew that Donna was somewhere in that circle and that he soon would be there too. He leaned forward on his elbows to make the point. Bev tightened her grip. After flan and coffee we sat back, quiet, satisfied. It was enough. It was all we had. Then Rosa switched off the lights behind the cash register. Tables emptied. Waitresses tallied accounts. Fred thanked us for dinner as I put on the black jacket. The first chill of autumn stood patiently outside, waiting to punch the clock of night.

Sacred Geometry

I swear to God
My mother as witness

Her ass was a work
Of fucking art

An inverted heart-shaped
Masterpiece of  curves
Drawn by some divine compass

Sacred bulbs
At the base of her back
Between the dimples
Of her hips

Geometry made flesh
Holy constellation
I never studied
Leaves me still
Spell bound
Tongue tied
Thunderstruck

Eyes voice mind soul
of course
chemistry
is more than physical magic

Dare I say love
opened my eyes to the
wonders of skin bone
iridescent life
glowing mystery
beneath velvet skin? 


But what can I tell you?
That I would burn down the perimeter walls
Sign over every cent I own
Hand the keys to my castle
For a day
Or an hour
Or a moment
A touch?

Let loose in the yard
My lust would scatter the
Chickens
Flood the granary
Lay bare tomorrow

Beauty sometimes is just
Too sweet
To swallow
Digest
Forget

I had to tell someone

But no, you can't say such a thing

And it's better left that way

Desire burns brighter
The further it
Sinks down into folds
Of steaming want

Hunger stoked
By moonlight
Soars outward
From carnal
Earth
Into cold
Empty space

Where it becomes
The midnight backdrop
Of stars

 A round note
of howling
song

As I sing
to no one but you
impaled on the
lance that is
this blessing
this curse

Writing Can Have Side-Effects and Be Habit Forming

Mornings I ride
A bike
To a place
Where I wait
For a poem to come

A piece a day
Whether good or not

Sometimes I hack my
Way through spiny plants
That tear at my skin

Sometimes I surprise
A hawk
Or spot a centipede
As it winds from one hiding place to
The next

More often I just keep
Moving through the wind
The sun
Or the rain

Sometimes the moon
Is blue as ice
Or red

If I just keep showing
Up one will come
Or not

My legs have gotten
Strong
Big as trees

Prison Writing Workshop

Eleven ravens roost

in a winter cottonwood

wind slices through

my jacket as the lock

snaps shut

fingers strain at the weight

of papers and books

and pens and notepads

and other dangerous characters

as a man lights his cigarette

on an electrical coil

wired to a steel post

a bare grey stump

bleaches in the sun

mute now

no breeze can stir the leaves

it used to offer as shade

and here in this

clear unforgiving

light

no one

can hide or run

but a man can refuse

square one of

a new year

a blank page waits

for the story

that will mark the passing

of steps in ponderous time

snow shimmers on the mountain

far beyond the confining wire

one by one the ravens

lift into the wind and are carried

on the words

thrown down like dice

in this the last and

only chance to

harvest a truth

from a turquoise sky
a pearl from a grain
of sand

What I Missed

The nattering "I'll-get-him"
and "she-is-so-nice"s
went silent for a moment
last week

I was driving
into and out of a
column of
rain that fell only
here
this wet road a
shadow surrounded by brilliance

Sun shone on
glistening sapphires
drops from that Sunday rain

Streets surrendered
vapor as tires
slurped along wet pavement

Struck by the anomaly
of it all
I rolled down the window

There, beside me all along
wafted the smell of water
and wet dog

How many storms have I missed
while spinning threads of chatter
out of wounds that refuse to close?

Stranger

I am a stranger to this life.

This imposter 

Wears all the wrong clothes 

To the banquet

Speaks a

Language I understand only

Dimly that says

Get to work.

Save your money.

Don’t talk to strangers.

The language I speak is one

Of animals,

Of stones full of

Stories told by

Turquoise, malachite,

And fools gold.

Mute chairs

Even musical instruments

Reveal their secrets as

I turn my gaze

From the flames

Of disappointment

To peripheral

Expectation. 

Imposter with a pass

I roam the dark streets

Looking for the door

That always waits.

I see what has

been in front of me forever

and pick up the hammer

I will need to

Shatter the jar

Holding all

Coins of my birthright.

This is the way.

I have been waiting

Growing old

And slow

Utterly and brilliantly

Embarrassed.