Three from the Vault

´Opening to New Notebook on 2 May 2008´

The image perceived is me. So to that I speak.
Don´t dawdle in the shining of the meek;
there is porridge insinuation you put there,
when you let your eyes swell with worry.
Pop massages the pull-to-mama: it´s home!
And wherever the flesh weakens: it´s bone!
Blend the witch´s hair into a face too sorry
to believe in a shrewd chewable sorcery.

Somewhere there is a place where mirrors are made,
the mercury all molten into shapes is laid.

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´The Rainbow´s Relax´

The task master
genulflects
down this street.
The answer?
A rainbow
blasting from his eyes.
My icon bear heart,
sore is the size of these words,
but it´s in the sky where the birds
peck at the trees that don´t change.

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´Almost a Mother´

I wonder what the sunshine thinks
when those long fingers pull mothers
into that position where babies pop
headless into the light-fat street
where we all of us are a-happy
to smile and wave and remember
they way she looked that gone December