Tears are somewhat elegant in the abstract.
Diamonds of dew rest on velvety rose-petal cheeks.
It's awkward, though, when your nose blossoms red,
billowing out to twice its normal width.
Beneath translucent skin, your glowing veins
form a lacy network, hot with pulsing blood.
Mathematically beautiful, but I flinch because I know
how one's stomach clenches up with every sob,
bile rising sharp and diamond-bright.
They milled around the cooler in awkward silence,
bobbing between the ice cubes while enormous
infant fingers splashed in the cold water,
searching, hungry with anticipation.
The party is over. Crawfish carcasses
stare from the table, dull-eyed and sunburn red.
The cat sniffs inquiringly, but their flesh
has mostly been picked over. The sky unfurls
pure as a morning glory. Birds preen,
bustle about their various errands, and chatter
lightly. I pace the yard in silence, gather
up the paper plates and empty cans,
boil water for the coffee, and feed the cat.
The Spring 2014 issue of Californios features some of my work, including the one poem that is probably closer to my heart than any other. Writing is always a profoundly odd experience, but this sonnet in particular transformed me at the volta. Go check it out, and enjoy all the other good suff there, too. Jesse Cone's poem on the annunciation is simply wonderful.
I'm a passionate believer in blogging, in throwing my best words out onto the wind and letting them fall where they may. Still, it's true that words need breathing space, and I think that my fibonacci poetry, in particular, is best experienced interspersed with other work. So I'm excited about this little set-that's-not-a-set, these little "wanderers" about my wanderings in California, wandering through other California poetry, short stories, photography, and essays.
The title 'Wanderers' refers to the Greek origins of the word 'planet.' All the 'wandering stars' were considered planetai. Originally, the sun and moon were considered part of this set, since they too 'wander' through the zodiac, but of course we see things very differently now...
Eventually, I would like to write a little star-shaped poem for each of the planetai. I have a rough draft for Mars, and just the vaguest of ideas for Jove and Saturn, but however the set eventually turns out, it will probably end with something like this little reflection on Sol:
Knowledge passes in and out of dreams,
a mirror dim, and frequently inverted.
Its objects are usually closer than they appear.
Love is the only absolute, and all
that's sure is only made sure by its power,
seen through the faith and hope that it inspires.
All of it passes away except for love.
Perhaps you are dreaming. What of it? Love is love
regardless of the state in which it finds you.
Though God is love, the senses still decieve,
but those who dream in love, He will surely wake,
and to those who wake in love He will give true dreams.