for Twiglet #226

Faith Came VIA Rail from Quebec City

Summer was in Destin with Jack's family, playing
Parcheesi when the call came. 
Half an hour, and she was backing 
from the parking slot, 
more rain forecast, 
Verdi on NPR. 
While Jack's mom waved 
from the condo window
Dad still tried to inhabit 
his body. Charity, 
in the hostel in Bremen, 
was sleeping. For her, 
hope was aloft 
for a few hours more.


/Appointment with Death

Or rendezvous, if you please. And while searching
that reference I forgot--oh, yes: my original intention:

A few years ago I was (only mildly) crazy,
and spent all my time doing nothing but
playing video games and adding my name
to mailing lists in hopes of becoming rich.
I also had symptoms and doctors. There 
were tests and procedures to keep track
of, and they interfered with my self-
administered anti-anxiety treatments. 

I began by being early for appointments 
and became so troubled that I lost track
of the day and showed up at the wrong 
office once, a day early. Why I feel need, now,
to recount this may or not be worth exploring, 
but no--the days of suicide are long past.

April 16

Definition: Character

Clarice Starling has been subsumed by Jody Foster,
who somewhere learned how southern and mountain differ.
Any East Tennessee drama teacher knows a fool can fake
the mountain drawl by locking down her lower jaw. That
doesn't fix Scarlett O'Hara, bias of any sort, chronic
unemployment, or the skin and teeth of inherited poverty,
but verisimilitude is an inch in the right direction. You
see: I was taught you could beat the past with increments.
Now, though, I'm old. My spotted skin and all my flaws
sashay across the stage sporting one-piece swimsuits, spike
heels, and satin labels: Miz Bigot, Miz Hypocrite, Old Miz
You Can't Get There From Here 1947. Still I sigh at new
SUVs bearing heirloom Confederate flags and flaking Trump
decals, knowing all reaction's a tale about chicken v egg.

for NaPo 4/1

Chord and Discord Sat on a Fence

A man who could translate Water to Wind
met a woman who only spoke Fire.
He cooled her. She sparked him.
He fanned, she inflamed: desire
with no earthly understanding.
But they slept in each other's arms
like two lullabies, demanding
nothing, content to share dreams.
The Fortune Deck fool is born again
with every breath taken and given.
A body trusts that air, sun and rain
will continue. It only knows living,
and life will or must derange.
It’s reason that's  strange.

For Twiglet #218

No Wind

to lift the singing
to carry the tree frog song
to spread spores of music

not rain. or, yes, but rain so fine
it penetrates the source of life
as dreams enter daydreams

not fog. or, yes, but falling
through its rising self, blending
music and umami



Twiglet 218

Quickly Words

What Love Means for the Dish and the Spoon

At the concert
I could feel the bass man.
Not the rhythm
in my blood. Not
his sweat, his eyes. It was
nothing sensual, sexual, nothing
I could have imagined.

There was a hymn
we sang in church, about the wonder-
working power in the blood.
I never thought
about the ancient, natural religions
and how they grew
from blood splashed on barren rock.

The juke box is vibrating.
You bend to pick up a quarter,
and the bar goes dark. All
sound becomes tiny.
It is as if you had really run away
this time, and run so fast
you left your heart behind
like a bull rider’s dusty hat,
for some clown to rescue.

Are there beings in the universe
for whom time moves not
like a river, but a yo-yo?
And does their god
walk with them, sing and keep them
spinning on a string?