dirt on the welcome mat

Monthly Archives: August 2011

Our sweaty hands

Reached up and pulled them as they waved,

Fistfuls of summer leaves

Whose veins ran cool through

Green apple skin and

Soft undersides.

We held them up

Until our skin turned pink

And the sun spun purple in our eyes.

Around our fingers, each leaf curled,

Then with sun rays fell

And stayed a while in our front yard.


We’re a pair
Of ocean ears.
The pattern of the tides are
Seared in shadows
Cast by flesh-colored curves
O
f seashell cartilage.
Nerves drift
In seaweed clusters
Beneath our skin’s sparkling surf while
White cotton buoys dance with shark fins,
Swabbing the salt sounds
That swirl between us.


We are not significantly
Genetically
Different than starfish.
Basically besides development,
We’re emphatically
The same.

We swim in wind
And spin
With all five points into the blue.
And nothing’s new
And we’re not old
Under the sun.

When I die
I think I’d like to
Dry out on warm sand,
Then when as hard as bones,
On sea foam
Float away.


Trees and tries

Leave a pile of the leafy dead

When the season comes around.

Brown sounds reach,

Crinkling with each slinky stretch,

Then settle like dust

Beneath so many shoes.


There’s a bridge between us

But it’s stone and cold

And too close to rushing water.

You just got off work and

My rain boots have holes

And we’re forever sons and daughters

Of tomorrow and yesterday.

So simply send me paper airplanes

Or throw boomerangs

As far as you can.


After the drum beats of severance,

A second where the soft things scream-

Butterfly wings rip from metallic seams,

Crocheted blankets feel the scissor blade,

Breath’s surface blisters into a sigh.


Wake me up

With a solo on pink rubber band strings,

Sing softly a Jamaican hymn,

Rub your cool gold rings

Across my forehead

And splash stained glass

Colors across my toes.

Gently dip me in life,

Dye me beautiful.