Sunday, February 5, 2017

The Tale of the Sky and the Sea












The sky is meant to lie against the sea
Every night line between them disappears 

The sea is always wet for the sky
The sky is covered in signs

The sea sobs its ecstasies
The sky beholds it all

The sea conceives of everything
The sky withholds its beholding

The sea spills over the lip of your cup
The sky can always see in

The sky does not need a mirror
The sea sits still just in case

The sea comes in long lines
The sky opens like legs

The sea is prone to lunacy
The sky provides the moon

The sea is always pregnant
The sky delivers us all

The sea spits out all glittering things
The sky inhales your last breath

Medical Sonnet #7






















In winter’s hoar, thy absence leaves me chilled
with fitful feelings tugging at my breast.
Uneasy, restless, desperate to be filled,
A breathless, longing woe: I must redress.
Spring wakes me from below, and insects stir.
A thousand spiders hang upon their thread,
While I dangle from the open sky, in turn,
by a solitary sigh of whispered dread.
Now the grasses blow in summer’s seething,
A gasping roused and kindled by the night.
Yes, summer is a time of heavy breathing,
Yet something also keeps it very light.
Autumn does a strip-tease, leaves are falling.
Desperation suits me not, I’m on my knees.
I beg for inspiration; now I’m crawling,
While waiting to exhale without a wheeze.
___
art by Miles Aldridge

Friday, January 6, 2017

dictum


all artistry is an act of translation
beauty is not fleeting
silence is a form of generosity
lace is a woman’s web
the best magic is restraint
time is a graceful suicide
confusion is fertile ground
mystery is not fragile
a kiss is a portal
chemistry is not love
home is where the art is
absence is a form of presence
naming is an act of recognition
the discipline of love is not passive
people are not meant to be solved
the sky is a matter of fact
earth is a revolving door
the silver lining is torn
levity is rebellion
cremation is a cure
heartbreak is trending
the break is the blossom
the best pedestal is the floor
love is a war you will lose

(science is magical realism
romance is generally haunted
infinity is none of your business
my therapist is out of her league
this dream is getting long
unmasking is a patient skill
most of this is nonsense)























You make me hard
Pressed to go about my day
Want to pin you to the wall
Like a thangka, 
Still wet when you touch it
Made for the altar
Meant to be worshipped
(In a way)
Like the View
From my knees

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Medical Sonnet #5

illustration by Racquel Aparicio



















Into the earthy realm we come, with friction as our gate
to don ill-fitting garments that our forebears did create.
But some unlucky soles, it seems, who would have worn too thin,
Become overly hardened here for want of thicker skin.
Still others look to chemicals, as though we can escape.
Alas, there is no exit when we’re circular in shape.
And even when we do dissolve, are peeled up from our flesh,
We may decide to start again, in agony, refreshed.
Physicians in white coats advise to take in fresher air,
In padded rooms with wider berths, perhaps, while we repair.
Still, pressure from all sides can mount when trouble is afoot.
Our suffering is certain, and we can’t give it the boot.
Yes, misery is guaranteed; we run on solar pain,
and sometimes it is doubled, when we go against the grain.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Medical Sonnet #4


From blissful slepe, her brown eye blinks.
Unbidden ‘rousal of the sphinx.
She aches, and with a moan and gasp, 
secedes the peace that is her mask.
A baser need, a carnal wonder,
beck and calls in raucous thunder.
Raging tempests churn the seas
that only one prayer can appease.
A flood ensues that can’t be dammed,
as rosy cheeks kiss porcelain.
And loudly, geese descend in throngs
to punctuate the dun brown pond.
Of perfumes, there may be sweter
but of release, there is no greater.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Medical Sonnet #3

art by verismaya





















Shall I compare thee to a cloggèd lane?               
The king’s road should but flowe with ease,           
But here the horses lurch and strain.                     
Or to a danse, if yt you please?                             
Thou duck in darkened corners, meek,                   
And shirk the beat in stagnant pain.                       
Or to a drunkèn captain’s fleet                               
with no North Star in night’s terrain?                      
And too few knots to stay the course.                       
Or to the gnarled oxen’s knees                             
That lumber through the blooming gorse?            
Whose remedie the swell doth ease.                       
Or to a world together held by modesty in vain       
while you stand out as painfully as an Americain.