Dog's Paw

dog's paw
distinct from star
but not by far
nor by darkness
but by spark
by maker's mark
by carpenter's scar

After Advent

we would have struck
a match if we had had
a match and if we had had
a place to strike it

but there was no place
just as there was no place
in the infamous inn
but there were milky moonlets

in the frozen hoof
prints and in the frozen paw
prints: some crazy moulage
from some crazier crime

a rustling maybe
where little lambs bowed
down and doggies bowed,
wowed.

Dream of the Rood

I had a dream, I had a dream
I had a dream he climbed on me
The carpenter's son, he climbed on me

He had a dream, he had a dream
The angel said you better take Mary
That Joseph man, he had a dream

She had a dream, o, she had a dream
Sweet little Mary, o, she had a dream
She dreamed you'd climb on me

I had a dream, I had a dream
I had a dream, I had a dream
They cut me down and you climbed on me

outro
I had a dream, I had dream
I had a dream he climbed on me
They cut me down and they
They cut me down and then
They cut me down and you climbed on me

Cigarette

The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down
At your lips at your pretty lips
flicked away flicked away flicked away now

The cigarette of my wasted life
bad for you bad for you bad for me
The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down

Memory memory memory
long long gone - gone - gone gone gone
Just a smoldering wick right now
till the LORD takes me to His mouth

The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down
At your lips at your pretty lips
flicked away flicked away flicked away now
burning down burning down burning down

Song: Enoch

Enoch walked, we're told, with God
for 300 years
I can't walk with God
for 300 seconds

Enoch walked, we're told, with God
for 300 years
I'm always straying away
into the weeds

Take me to that place
where seek is find
Take me to that place
where knock is open wide

Take me to that place
where seek is find
where weak is strong
where you're really mine

Blues in F

Curfew

some of us
will leave our lanes

to cover
this fire to crush

this haughty
flame yet once

again: a furnace
that still burns

us with its
pretty look

daddy fur
and severed

paws pouring forth
beauty like heaped-

up coals on our
ugly heads

and haunting
our slinking off

to our
abednego beds

if my heart

if my heart were a beam
in abandoned barn

and if there were a loft
with standable floor

there’d be ― trust me ― patient
bees boring perfect

holes snowing powdered
sugar on the boards

below

Aliens Among Us

no need
to reach

some far-
flung star

to see
the sites

on venus
or mars

to un-
maybe

the mights
to dis-

cover
the heights

to seize
the halos

of un-
manned flight

we just call ’im dovie ’cause he bristles at lovie

entranced with enough
english
dovie’s cue ball’ll walk

duly to the new
striking
place and the waiting

cue: already scuffed
and chaulked
and armed with powder

blue kisses

Volatile Bob

My heart is
pure ― rubbing

alcohol
better keep

dragging those
grounding chains

My head is
Everclear

nearly two-hundred proof
better stop

playing with
those matches

My hurt is
nitro ― so

better not
bump me so

hard with that
dreamt about body body body

Three Things

There are three
sleeps that can
stop our mouths
their speaking:

the Big Sleep
(which plugs all
things), the Nighty-
Night (if night-

mare free),
and the Sleep
of Kiss (which
bungs our tongues,

possums our
peepers, and
relegates our
breathing).

OneMan’s Pack Rat is another OldLady’s Boy Scout

Because he might need
a Black Toad bottle
cap crimped at one hun-
             dred twenty degrees,
he can’t discard it,
but keeps one of six

Maybe a lady
will seek safe passage
across frozen tun-
             dra through a hoard of
malevolent Huns
and that cap might be

the only weapon
or useful disguise
(you know, used to scratch
             or worn as a patch)
that is small enough
to smuggle or that

we’re able to hide
until we most need
it ― as I replay
             it ― at the last minute
So, I can’t blindly
just throw it away

Note to Self: The Bottom

Here’s the bottom
line: is your poem

of such robust
spine and buxom

embrace of such
tonic balm such

bouquet and taste
of such sonic

boom exquisite
menu and coo

that it might coax
despairing toes

off of spotlit
ledges or bowed-

down heads away
from unlit stoves?

Sermon :: Matthew 6:34

                 i.
BETTER let tomorrow
let tomorrow
let tomorrow

better let it take care
let it take care
care of itself.

Listen little children ―
Would I? Would you?
Would this one here?

Would we pull the covers
of tomorrow
onto our beds?

And then the day after
that? and then next
week? and next month?

All piled up. All at once.
― Y’all go on and
talk to me now ―

As if we had ’em all.
All the linen.
All the bedclothes

of a five-star hotel.
And so piled up ―
stacked up ― ceiling-

high? Wouldn’t we smother
beneath the weight
and heat of them –

tossing ourselves into
our very own
fiery furnace.

Today is hot enough.
Heavy enough.
Trouble enough.

                ii.
WE’D be pinned flat down like
a butterfly
under a stack ―

a big stack of flapjacks.
That butterfly
might melt but

it’s not getting much sleep.
Y’all hearing me?
Be still my soul?

I really don’t think so.
That’s not stillness
of our sweet souls

my brothers and sisters.
We can be still.
We can be still.

Because He wasn’t still.
Jesus came down.
All the way down.

Some of you have heard this
before. Way down.
To Mary’s womb.

Hand-him-down swaddling clothes.
Pretty flimsy.
Like the lily.

Y’all got me distracted.
So where was I?
Be still. Our souls.

We might be really still.
But really grim.
And beaten down.

Our typical tossing
and turning might
stop. That’s for sure.

                 iii.
BUT Jesus gives us rest.
For the weary.
But not pinned down.

My Jesus was pinned down.
So we don’t need
to be pinned down.

The biggest deed is done.
All the way done.
So we can rest.

So we can sleep under
the light light sheet
of just today ―

not that weigh-me-down shroud
of days and weeks
and months and years.

There is a seven-star
hotel. We need
to go sleep there.

And you can’t afford it.
But it’s all free.
All the way paid.

Jesus says sleep under
His cool covers –
It is finished.

His pollen soft, but warm.
Diaphanous.
Lily linen.

And ev’ry. Body. Said.
Amen. Amen.
Sister Betty,

come on up and lead us:
Come Ye Sinners,
Poor and Needy.

Planting Beans

propping the shovel hoe and rake
spooling out twine plunging the stakes
kneeling dimpling the harrowed plot
thumbing simple tombs in the pocks
releasing the pink dusted bombs
dozing over dirt with a palm

a display of faith this arming
counting on another rising
their pearl green necks rolling
their respective stones exploding
revealing in each yawning
seed applauding

a leaf a tongue
the dumb report

Bird Man

In his younger
years, when he was
bung-full of sap,
the mere shadowing
of a swallow
jetting past
would spook his wool-
gathering gaze.

But now, the blue jay’s
jeering and juking
and the mocking
bird’s mania
and the mourning
dove’s rugged flute
are all drummed up
inside his napping.

Like funneled swifts
down deep chimneys.

Nurse :: Muse

flip my pillow
over baby
           and let me feel
           your shading tree
cradle my brain-
pan with one hand
           while the other
           one does the deed

rip the bandage
from my body
           change the damage
           sop up the dream
so distract me
with your singing
           that you don’t ring
           a tear from me

grip my ankles
with your let-down
           hair and phantom
           some quickening
there remember
feathered Hermes
           was fashioned in
           the shadows of

a cripple’s dancing
fire

______________________________________________________________________
Hephaestus was the Greek god of craftsmen, fire, and volcanoes. His Roman counterpart was Vulcan. In addition to making the armour of Achilles, the girdle of Aphrodite, the chariot of Helios, and the bow and arrows of Eros, he also fashioned the winged sandals (talaria) and helmet (petasos) of Hermes (Mercury). He says of himself in the Odyssey, Book VIII: “I was crippled from birth” (ἐγώ γε ἠπεδανὸς γενόμην).

Chair

lowercase
::h:: a place
to drape your

cape folder
of bodies
molder of

laps a place
for dandling
for dancing

lion tamer’s
prop site of
chess master’s

endless loop
the brawler’s
favorite

weapon the
carpenter’s
teetering

throne balanced
on the ledge
of heaven

the front two
angel-lathed
legs dangling

Nesting

What beakable thing
will catch the builder’s

eye? a string ― a puff
of doggy down ―

yesterday’s feather ―
All are viewed

and weighed and tested
― then taken

or rejected ―
All to sketch

a hollow place
a bird’s embrace

a cup a crèche
a pivot point for two

blue
worlds

Mister D.

MISTER D. is
always with me.

He’s there, mugging
in my mirror:

tonguing his teeth,
spritzing every

perfume. Goofing off
at the market:

sampling cheeses
and juggling fruit.

AND there he is,
near my lover’s

bed ― even when
fevered fingers

are climbing my
spine ― waving

that silly scythe,
making some nice

shadows and lights
for the seeming,

but very
little breeze.

MISTER D. is always
with me.