What, To Michelangelo, is David?

crafting the wind in marble
casting the breeze in stone
catching a zephyr in the moment
sculpting transience alone

raw and rough the rock regarded
the sculpture starts undifferentiated
unworked, unmarked, uncut, simply
stone. until the soul pours from his head

and the chisel in his hand. struck
chips fly and chunks of white
veined with grey and green and
hues and streaks fall to the ground

delicate detritus litters the workshop
floor. the figure emerges slowly
rough at first, but lines begin to
take shape. limbs begin to

appear. revealed, created or found?
the stone takes breath. the shape
starts to shake, to live, movement
in the corner of his eye

he sleeps in the studio. constantly
aware of the eyes he watched arise
float to the surface of the stone, drawn
forth by the paintbrush chisel.

marbled whorls of color in pale cheeks
life leeched into silent stone with quietus
just out of reach. peace
is the cessation of obsession

oblivion is the end result of creation
oblivious, he keeps on sculpting a son

No One Ever Knocks Anymore: A Noir Nocturne

gum on the shoe of a man with a gun
          that and a nose for trouble, head for booze and eye for
the kinda girl who can make a crowded bar sweat
         condensation beading on lips
                       even the glasses can’t look away

in a red dress and heels she walks in
                                        what else. dames. every one acts like
she’s the first case walked in here all
                                        week. can’t remember the last time
head pounds hangover, lip curls to cut.

“Hey Dollface…”

but
      this one’s different
                                        she has a gun
                                                          too

hammer cocked back .38 cyclops wide primed against
anvil of recognition. ACME printed on the side.
        chest caves in memory implosion  
                        Wile E Coyote flat in the wake
Roadrunner in red raises one black brow
over  
               those eyes
                ice blue diamonds glitter

“you have the most beautiful eyes…“

in a sundress and a straw hat she poured cheap wine

seedy celebration for a job well done

wicked smile dances

well, never thought I’d see you
              again with a piece. always had issues with
                           trust me. you wanna put down that
                                          gun swung handle to head.    
                                                                out cold dead
pistol whip imitation mahogany temple desecrated  
                      floored. fade to black. oblivion beckons  
                              welcome back. To a lack, a have not

              seen the plates on the getaway car. feet staggered to
              running down the dingy stairs, two at a time
              tires squeal, ignition catches. sputters

“stop it. you silver tongued….”

a kiss, a glance, frame a moment .

two thieves at the top of their game

engage. pursuit. not again you siren
           wails, screech, dodge the fuzz, speeding
                      to conclusions. she must have come

for the empty band of skin on a white knuckled hand on the wheel
for the fingers, so fragile. love is a femme fatale with a knife in hand
for the memory of better days, the broken knuckles of a brawler, a drunk, a

“A toast. To us. To the best thieves in this damn dirty…”

city lights wash out the stars but all he sees

diamond eyes reflect the streetlights halogen glare

backlit billboards set the scene

thieving witch, this is what I get. never trust a
         fool and his money, funny how cool the breeze  
                   clears the air. breathe in clean

she always did have nerves of steel and  
              curves in the road betray how he feels
                          his way in the darkness, car parked a block  
                  away she ran but tabs kept. bolt hole motel can’t run

gun in hand. gum on shoe. hands of a man who knows he won’t shoot

“here. I want you to have this…”

dive bar at 3AM, heads packed with sand, hearts full

a pull from the bottle, a neon love song

married to the thrill of the chase

 
       just to see her one more time can’t trust my own mind
              can’t turn her in but oh through the  
                      window pane ballet, Venetian blinds broken

she looks at a glint of light in her palm.
tears fall like shell casings the last time
fingers curl, clutch like churls for lust

                     woman in a red dress. legs to here and pain for years
 

“two halves, one heart. two diamonds….”

Los Angelotes (The Angelfish)

“Hey Blanquecino, where you goin so fast?”
grimy halls of an underwater project.
a fish talking to its ghost? blue fin angelfish
and a paper cutout that glitters in the sun
red eyes regard tormenter, pupil less pits
full of pain.

at night, he was a wraith, invisible
a pale shadow, a shade of grey in a
world of blue and black. he prayed for
cloudy days. for in the sun how he shone
iridescent pearlescent magnificent
“Freak. Mutante”

whispers came, whisked to his ears
by warning, warming currents. “los angelotes
quieren matar el monstrou”. he
sought asylum in the dark, crevices
rocks and abandoned rooms where
love once lived

“oye lechoso”. cuts through the waves. framed
in the window, where his grandmother once
watched him play. he turns haloed gold in
light, reflecting, radiating. regrets his return?
where there is one soon blood will run
dives into the sun

through the mirror escape velocity
through the waterlogged streets, swimming
through the kelp forests. fleeing the future
fruitlessly, frustration mingles salt with fresh
water and tears inseparable. leaving
the only home he ever knew

he heads north, heedless and short of breath
no destination, looking back is a death trap
beating on against the current, sure of nothing
but a dreadful fate. this fish can’t look back
can’t think, merely swims on
ocean ends with a thud

his world stops here. shorn off by a barrier
of nothing, invisible, intangible cessation of
reality split by a plane of glass
water on one side, air on the other
he throws his body against
the end of his life

reduced to raw frustration and mad abandon
wildly testing the limits of industrial partition
energy spent and breath expelled, he floats listless
witlessly watching bubbles rise free from prison
rising sun’s beams rainbows, stockade prisms
caught in a cage of light

nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, he slowly spins to
face the sun. beating down from on high, spitting
epithets at the sky. no refuge found, no escape allowed,
lonely albino was always lost in a crowd. by himself
he always played, grandma’s fins were his safe place
a home lost to time

“Albo” echoes all around, sourceless sound
he spins, and spins again. seeking speaker
futile desire, he can hear, they are near.
no where to run anymore, fate is clear
as the wall at his back. bracing for attack
silhouetted in a sunbeam

los angelotes leisurely appear, slipping
into position, scales and eyes glistening with
anticipation. they listen for their cue
sibilant syllables spell his doom
“Asesina, mata, erradica” they come
hungry for blood

like a spectator he gazes upon himself
watching. blue and yellow bodies streaking
slow motion towards a sunlit shadow in their midst
mind clear of mist. “Here I come” mouthed
aims his bow at imminent reunions above
only family, only love

he rises past the mass, the writhing wild frenzy
fish can’t fly, can they? time to test or take his rest
escape through the waves, break the surface
keep ascending through the air, through the clouds
“Angel Albino” makes grandma proud
blood red sun welcomes him home

Free Soloing

there is no pity in this implacable face
there is no mercy in the wind’s whistle
there will be no quarter in this battle

to test his mettle he enters the lists
steps into the ring and raises his fists
cagematch to the death, one on one
striving to rise as high as the sun
braving it all, bare knuckled brawl
daring to fall, the luck of the draw
shadows call makes him look small

in one corner stands the skeleton of the world
salient spires pierce from the earth, fierce pain
broken femurs protruding raw. the champ
with a winning streak longer than he is high
and in the other corner is the challenger
an upstart who thinks, dares, to surmount
this ape seeks to conquer time, to place
his mark as high as he can reach
stone smirks silently, confident

to tell the tale he scales the shale
stony whale, flukes and a fluted tail
he rides the great grey humpback
over a switchback, carrying no pack
just lungs full and tendons taut
muscles strain without a thought
mindless journey into naught

man meets mountain, it’s merely madness
to crack the cumulus citadel is the quest
Olympian castle wreathed in clouds
Promethean scale and upward bound
in the ascent he seeks a sense
of worth unknown on the earth
rising higher rarely glimpsed heights
rarefied air and starlit nights
breathe champagne bathe in light
in the struggle he forgets to worry
lost in the journey, falling up
sleeps like just another rock

Norwegian Royalty

A storm of butterflies lost above the Norwegian coastline,
snowcapped peaks and fertile lowland valleys shadowed
by billowing black eyed hurricane, swarms of orange over
hidden inlets and rivers running to the sea

To follow the path of the storm’s destruction
would take years on foot. Tourists will gaze
upon the Viking’s proof of his gods, until
attention flits away, dancing upon the sea
breeze. And they will go back to the cities
with photos of impossible tigerskins encased in ice .

Winters edge approaches and the fjords freeze over
snakes of ice and rivers of crystal run through
A patterned white and brown, patchwork
landscape of forest, and field. All snow-covered
snow cone mountains peek through the clouds.
storm’s legacy is twisted, complicated,
unplottable gnarly lines on a map.
that do no justice to true
fractal beauty

migration patterned wings paint hurricanes
chaotic static chromatic attraction reaction
a thousand wanderers flit above the fjords
waiting for the storm to form

the colorful crowd echoes the cumulus
swirling around above, creative chaos
called the storm, whirlwind sown by hand
the tempest is a blanket of wind and rain
settling over the shore, hugging the curves
clouds fit the coastline closely, matching the
flight of the final migration. the first and last
blown off course, squall spawned swarm
summons Nordic monsoon under new moon

a thousand tiger typhoon conjurers flap
flutter, flicker, fan frantic fragile heart
lighting flashes fast and furious Norse anger
Odin’s rage invoked by delicate insects
Thor’s thunder rumbles under cloud cover
Loki’s joy at the lost of Lepidoptera, bright
chaos and sharp chance. Cutting the coastline,
lashing the shore with the pain of the sky

black and grey clouds laced with light billow
willows bend in the face of gale force ferocity
clouds of orange and black wings reap the whirl

the storm rages and ravages the insensate land
stark scape shows no hurt, but the spray strips
the softness from the green. leaving only scree
and bones in its wake. the weather is wicked
fall storms bring hail and sleet, cull the sick
flay the fat from the land, cutting teeth
leaving only that which can stand
felling the weak

and they fall from the sky like snowflakes
a month too soon. casualties of their own
mistimed monsoon. polychromatic
glittering confetti fatalities
carpet the ground as the first frost steals
over the land like a silent lover, silent killer
sealing intricate patterns beneath a layer of ice
cover the land with a blanket
a clear quilt over chaos

Alone in the Jungles of Bimini

the kapok leaves weep for his loss
fluid dew crystals roll down
broad waxy verdant spearheads
each an enameled emerald eyelid estuary

one perfect prismatic pure sphere
dangles, defying gravity from the
edge of the tip, the lip of a rip
on the leaf on one tree in the canopy

it seems to fall forever, that drop
as it passes through beams of light
casting split second prisms until
splash. Disperses into rivers of grief

inevitable rivulets escape damned eyes
seeping from unseeing orbs of blue
and white. riven with red veins of pain
refracted onto tear streaked cheeks

riveted by rising sun’s reflection
burnishing the lake as true a gold as
the rough coin in his hand
sunbeam hits, reflecting his pain

gilded crown in his palm, last
token of godhood foretold by
prophecy. Across the sea they
came, searching, searching

for a fountain of forever, of never
having to say goodbye again. Lives
lost, explorers turned conquistadors
turned prey, prophecy betrayed

tables turned, hunters hunted to
the edge of extinction. Only instinct
delayed the last deicide. Alone, lost, he
approaches the burnished mirror

perfect ovoids obey gravity’s dictates
slowly wash down cheekbone canyons
trace pathways through jawline jungles
freefall past the forests edge

mirrored miniature globe falls forever
diamond shatters when it hits the stream
symmetry splatters, casting grapeshot
undulating rings across reflective surface

knifelike precision cleaves the waves
creating shattered space in his wake
droplets fly, toucans take to the sky
wavelets radiate, no other trace

Lake Lynn, Tennessee, 1854

feverish furtive flight
                                in the watercolor pre-dawn impressionist mist
           shifts misery swirls

       concealing, revealing 
                   sounds echo unmoored, unending, untraceable – 
                                                                                                        he hopes
huddled fetal free
       escapism cloaked in smoke like dope exhaled 
               foxhole fugitive from the rope
               feet pound pavement, pursuit confused, lost the scent over 
                      running water frozen time skitter jitterbug the line 

                                watch the needle dance over taut skin
                                         dark ink dark skin barcoded

            breathe mists occluding air fog twines fingers nappy hair 

  Hiding, providing 
                   excuses embraces the erasures of races

          records set stern as faces
                             serious like whip crack heart attack
                             fear the dog that’s never spared the lash

hobbled feral fierce
         pain brewed stewed fermented decanted devoured 
                  fires rage banked brown eyes
                            coals turn to wildfire  
                                    grow grumble ancient hunger 
                    wet snout sniffs mosaic patterns through space and time
                                follow fear pheromones dark rich heady scent

                          manacles clink shiver shrink away
                                 blood etched soul stained


          naked back map
          rivers of memory scar velvet perfection
                    princely skin ridges of punishment scourge
                           kindnesses reward


resting hoping
praying with closed eyes. dawn dreamed oracle

ancient branches spread
         overhead spiderweb barren refuge
                      root throne self-made king


                          searching reaching
         sniff snuffle pant puff point strain wire taut whimper whine 
                                           chain tense leash slip
                                                         release

hoarse brays rend ears
                                         years whip rends regal rags

                bared coated salivating anticipation, hunts consummation

                                predator prey two old friends meet again

                              teeth nails hair muscle wrestle paws hands

                          freedom instinct survival driver
                                    brown coat black skin bruise throat eyes roll
                                                     bare breast. fangs leap.

            jaws caught.  
                                            torn hands re-ripped life re-wrote
                       neck turned
                                                    eyes catch
                             lock
                                            snap

back to collared kindness collared greens in cellar kitchens
brothers in servitude, sharing scraps of scraps
equally hungry, equally desperate, equally

          cold. dawn remains
                             weeping runaway
                              weary rheumy eyes close
                              frothy lips quiver. breath departs rattle leaves
                     fall breeze chills
                                    goose prickles pickles black down
             howl from afar
                            un-hung head drops. heels to hie
                  ever northward
                                           through the mists

Broken In

now that its too late.
it's all my fault, not too proud

i'm sorry, i'm sorry
mixed with the blood and memories
yolk spilled, smile rictus, tears flow
on the floor, coming from his head.
love intermingled with the blood
honeymoon. Memories of better days, better
this one together, in Nova Scotia, on their
examining when she struck. They had found
the whalebone flute that he had been
in her hands. With a carving in his hand,
and she sits on the floor, with his head

forgiveness, finally, he came back.
he turns, eyes open, pleading for
She connects with the side of his head as
(as he tried to teach her so many times).
and swings, stepping into it
she steps into the room, hesitates.
no time to see what she is looking at
crouched unwary, unprepared, distracted.
a fear, a shadow, a figure, a shade
no broken glass. A shape silhouetted.
the summer night. French doors, opened,
she can feel the fresh air, smell
the house, something is not as it should be
to ward off fear. she knows someone is in
she slinks down the hall, weapon raised

memory now, time for action.
so boring and static). No time for
the game, tried to teach her. she hated it,
friend from the softball league (he loved
retrieved, reappropriated. A gift, from his
door slides. over-sized bat remembered,
bare feet pad velvet to the closet
sheets slide silently to the floor,
and she will not let it be defiled.
This is their house, was their refuge,
explanation, strategy, ideas, weapons.
mind flashes, hyper active, seeking
cold sweat suit coats her pores.
through the canyons of limbs
eyes wide open, adrenaline flash flood

whispers. fresh air on her cheek
she hears the night's song, wind
or stupid, stupid sauerkraut.
Pabst, ballpark brats and cheese whiz
refrigerator hum, empty without his
major, at the time). She hears only
the ancient Aztecs (she was an Anthro
in the morning about nothing, everything
they loved, fought, talked till eight
upon a time. In this house, these halls
he was her light, her knight, once
oblivion, void free of memory.
waiting for sleep, for blessed
lying there in the dark alone.

sweaty, restless misdirected
marathon. regret fills her
sheets tousled from un-run
in a broken in bed, half full.
the fat ripe fields. satin sheets
whys and why nots plague
dreamland. A locust swarm
sheep in the pasture adjoining
a better life. More maybes than
like they ran together in
marathons of ifs and oughts
her mind is racing, running
can't sleep, can't stop
alone in the house she

Lewis Carroll on the Economy

the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
of credit cards and default loans, and insider trading rings
of apathy and idiocy, and whether the fat lady sings

a glint in his eye, a lick of the lips as the walrus sells
false hope to his audience, trapped within their shells
fearful mollusks listen rapt, as he spins golden spells

Buddha belly earthquake rumbles, hunger never sated
The Walrus and the Carpenter, fault lines we’ve created
Fissures growing day by day, unchecked and deregulated

as the unwary little bivalves pay their bailout tithes
they don't realize that they are mortgaging their lives
waiting for salvation while on the cross they writhe

carpenter crafted crosses, forest in the background
there’s no road to perdition, no salvation found
just into the corporate crockpot, eaten pound by pound

gobbled down with a smile, and a dash of vinegar to taste
the walrus weeps crocodile tears as his teeth make paste
the carpenter reasons 'we can't let good food go to waste'

what a price the little clams paid to be saved
now gratefully accepting the yoke of the slave
happy they may be, live forever in their graves

Camera Obscura

Glass eyes tell no lies but only record
sins compressed by telephoto lenses.
Aperture admits as much light
as he chooses. No choice, no agency
objective prism, dispassionate voyeur
unblinking uncaring ever staring

flies flit about festering fruit
rotten, split guts spilt seeds
overripe blood oranges litter the field
falling amongst corpses posed
in the act of living. Paused mid-
scream, mid-scene, mid-

Slow death of a life imprinted upon
fast film stock at ISO two fifty.
When the film is used up so is he,
direct your own life efficiently.
Extreme close up, pupils dilate
Face to face with his own reflection

horsefly lands upon the reflection
of a killer in a dead man’s eye
one of a dozen sprawled amongst
the roots, died running – away, to?
From? Died running amidst
Falling leaves and special effects

Who would want to watch their whole life
again, and again and again? Could he edit
and make montage of moments
put conversation in static framing
shot, reverse shot, point of view subjectivity
continuity created, narration unrestricted

A dying man’s hand clutches, reaching
for salvation. Falls upon a fallen
orange, bloody handprint mars
the pebbled aromatic peel.
Coughs out his last words
Just like they were rehearsed

live your life like a movie
it was said. But what kind of film
would this mess make? Who
would want to watch me? He
says to himself, behind the lens.
Calls cut, and takes five.

A Rock In Midstream*

Cross legged contemplation of the
cows at the crossroads. The herd ambles past
eyes face forwards, heads hunched
not a glance aside, no thought. Unseen
oasis on the side of observatory drive
leafy, threadbare curtain drawn back
by winter snowfall levees. Quietly break
in the face of a flood inside, desires to
escape overwhelm one alone in the flow.
To leave the routine slipped behind the
curtain. Found a clear view of the lake
crystal, unbreakable transience
grounded and centered on a rock
crossed legs, closed eyes

breathe out
unfold heart, open mind
breathe in
lotus soul flowers
breathe out
banked coals roar
breathe in
fire heart opens
breathe out
embers grow
breathe in
petals reach
breathe out
nirvana buds
breathe in
cusp of heaven
breathe out
delicate balance
breathe in
unthinking being
breathe out

Rise again to the surface
flower fires fade
eyes open coals banked
finding feet to rejoin the herd
walking apart but still on track
amongst placid cattle driven to class
Buddha mind finds its own path

*This is a revision of 'A View From the Lake' - I will be posting several such re-writes in the coming week