All Ye Who Enter Here

Hell superimposed.

Downtown reflection meets Dante-inspired Art Prize piece "The Inferno (From Ashes)"

April Showers

monstrous rain drops
of right angles,
sharp to touch
revolving, falling
through light and air
shimmering,
plummeting slowly
quickly
one smooth plane
—smashed! and shattered
to razor-sided chunks
dangerous and hard
fragile and transparent
cracked, crunchy, tinkling
beautifully
but broken

crashing and cracking
swept and ground
refired
refined
reformed
reframed
refracting light
oh, glass of souls
souls of glass
broken
becoming
beautiful

senses

sprawling on the fainting couch
staring at the walls -
at spider legs of cracks
and flapping strips too tall
to reach, they flutter -
a window must be open
the flushed face
feels fresh breath
a leg dangles off the plum upholstery
like a tentacle in death
another blouse button's come undone
another thought's been left

hearing nothing except everything
that's throbbing in the veins,
the silence of the darkness looming,
what's whirring through the brains

the heart was sick
the heart was free
the heart was lost to one at sea

it heard the cracks and dark and wind

it felt the light come beaming in

it still was sick
it still was free
it was found by the one who sees

“The expression ‘to write something down’ suggests a descent of thought to the fingers whose movements immediately falsify it.” – William Gass

Scissors

I need to find the scissors!
They always disappear
Empty is the kitchen drawer
(where they were shut
out of sight, out of mind
until I wanted to sever
or clip,
to permanently rend
in a second’s snip)

Someone is resistant!
To cutting and cleaving,
Slicing asunder
Or slashing to slits;
To splice is more polite
To reassemble, build, combine

But I must find those scissors.
To chop and piece (I need)
To strips and bits the old—
Confetti to throw up, to float and fly
(I need)
To fall into the future

good penny

You keep turning up
In my dreams
Where we star together in
Scenes from a sentimental movie—
I’m the quirky heroine
You’re my indie hero
And we’re famously in love . . .
But it’s not you,
Just a shiny doppelganger
Not tarnished by bitterness
Or intimacy-dulled at the edges;
Crisp, new, and bright
Heads up
For good luck,
Just a good penny
That keeps turning up