dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: sun

we all make streets
between breakfast and lunch,
finger-painting yellow lines,
kneading the concrete,
preparing its dark dough
for midday sun
until we are tired
and it is smooth


a watched pot never boils,

but the sharp sizzle
of stray drops
dancing designs on the burner
and the sun sparkles hurled
from the just-sloshed pot’s
wet metal gleam
to the top cabinet’s
fuzzy gray hair

crack open the senses,
spilling midnight refrigerator light
over feet, hands, and face


we’re all shoelaces in the summertime

hoping for cool
under the bed shade,
a thin layer of closet dust
slathered sunscreen style,
and a new pair of flip-flops,
plastic, to feel the poolside scrapes
while we sprawl each frayed thread
careless, curled, and comfortable
like the sun’s own rays


we came
dressed in white-
nothing serious
or symbolic,

just clumsy animal-shaped,
cloud-draped
dreamers
stumbling around
too close to the sun

covering smiles and handshakes
in bleached
cotton candy pillow fights
morning mist
and whens and whys


hosanna
a blade of grass
blown between the thumbs
eyes claim to see
staring into sun
in the highest


memories face the clouds
still velcroed,
unsalted,
stubborn
sunflower seeds
straining higher.
millions of dark eyes
waiting for the hour
their namesake
will appear,
unaware their petals’ flames
are the beauty to be matched.


Every revolution of the sun
Is marked
In its core
By the click of a
Seatbelt buckle 
Whose metal heat has blistered
The thumbs of a thousand.
Stovetops with an equal status
Are struck with matches
Until the sound of a bb bullet
In old green bean can
Echoes and spins and escapes,
Curling each ray
On its way back to earth.


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.


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.


in our pockets,

in our hair,

glittering like an unexpected smile

then dimmed to cold camouflage

is the fortune fools chase,

the precious dust

of seconds gone by,

dropped by the sun’s shining pendulum

then slowly caked on

eager skin

until aged and desperate,

it forms deep crevasses

to catch

hope in measured,

treasured time