the blind girl

she had a nose like a razor blade
the blind girl
her head pinched
and pulled upward to the side
like some mirrored funhouse image.

her body was complete, fulsome
well-dressed, in the manner of woman
who would never have to leave a bar alone.
she cradled her cane in the crook of her arm
trailing her freed hand over the classic facades
which defined the tight streets of her medieval Dutch town.

she'd sheltered from the rain like the rest of us
and now, trailing her, I could tell she was a little lost
displaced from normal routine.
she inquired of the first steps that approached-
the woman spoke briefly-
the blind girl unfurled her white cane
and quickening her stride
tapped the wet cobblestones
with the sweet confidence
of one who has learned to trust.


There's a froggy in my chest
Beating against my breast
Hammering my bones 
With those flip flip flopping tones.

There's a froggy in my throat
Croaking through a coat
That's thick with winter's snow. 
This froggy's saying let go
Let go, this froggy's saying let go.

Wake up and splash you frog
Golden ball in mouth
Loosened from the bog
Down the hall head south.
Intent not to be denied
Warm breeze  buoys your butt
You're free from those who lied
Free from mental smut.

Webbed feet slap marble tile
Webbed hands push oaken door
Croaky voice sings out with style
Golden ball thumps to the floor.
Hinges creak, you end your song
Heavy rolling on marble is heard,
The king with a nod admits the odd
And graces you without a word.

In spacious bed with empty head
The maiden is fair and sweet.
Silk sheets are red and you are wed
She feeds you a special treat.
Hippity hop 
Don't stop don't stop
The moment is rolling round.
It's you and she and me on top
Of trembling silent down.

There's a froggy in my heart
His kingdom is the blood
Croaks a rhythm that will start
Us dancing in the mud
Dancing in the mud
Dancing in the mud.

two images in need of a camera 


standing on the beach
a bearded man rests a long didgeredoo
upon a pitted rock-
drones circular vibrations
while a waist-haired woman kneels,
teetering within her fingers
an oblong stone which arabesques
atop a boulder.

gathered around them
like children at a sing song
are curiously balanced rocks-
some squatting, perfected-
others reclining,
awaiting their turn to dance.


centred on a brick windowsill
a rumpled bird 
badly in need of a comb
another victim of clarity's
sudden smack on a head
in mid-flight.

spiritual growth

spiritual growth:
it's basically hopeless
but well worth trying

wave pool

in the warm evening sunlight
seated in the slatted curves 
of a plastic Adirondack chair

I notice the dark sheen
of my foamed-out Belgian beer, 
by contemplative Trappist monks- 
reflects the leafy outlines
of a crab-apple bough above.

the bough beats, wiggles, ripples
lies still, smooth mirror restored
beats, wiggles, ripples, 
lies still, smooth mirror restored.

the insistent powwow of my heart-
transmitted by the tensile sympathies
of plastic- distils contentment 
like the luscious gills of a fish.

who heals the healer?

the body's geography spilt cross the bed
reformed by faith's soiled acid wash
proclaims only pain is real
and tears trickling to the ears
are the wine of neglected fruits.

round the clunky table at the heart of the house
someone asks 
who heals the healer?

beneath broken bark
new wood shines
worms carve trails
that are portents:

'tis the healing 
heals the healer.


elbows press warm planks
fitted stones arch overhead

in sky a ribald grey
mound glows round
a foggy cleft
that spits snowballs
one by one.

they arc 
loom close
head sized
turning at the last
drawn to me
like the skin 
of a bubble.

but the doorway
is deep and holy

I should have to raise my head
into the path of icy shards
risk Jayne Mansfield

for each coarse fibre
of beauty's blanket.

I am a creature that breathes, knowing nothing

I am a creature that breathes
knowing nothing.

white needles prick quick
through home-wrecker's painted nails,
shame and guilt a barbed wire vest
shuffled off by a heart brutishly
fingered by grandfathers' ghosts.

I am a creature that breathes
knowing nothing

unclenching a jaw
barnacled by words
hammered by ignorant lips
that once quivered
in the scotch soaked blows
of a Depression mother's cries.

I am a creature that breathes
knowing nothing.

tenderly I implore that tenderness
that jewel lost in the mud of dark echoes
to rise amidst the cut stone walls
dare the kiss of the sun on your cheek,
your face known to worms and stars-
rise into the flesh of boundless transmission
become that creature
that man
who breathes, knowing nothing.

new carpet

held by balsa strips
and hollow tube feathers
mercurial rug of my dream
cushioning every step

but first the old must be torn
from the edges
thorny spikes that hook and grip
rusted baseboard heaters
of uncertain current
set one in front of the other
like terrorist barricades
must be filed from their moorings
by the soothing salts of midnight tears

then the new 
unfurled unrolled
fresh rayon scent
squeezed between naked toes
like the warm wet kiss
of a receding sea
invigorating the work
that must be done.