All Right, Already!

Nature, poetry does not provide
only the excuses for poets to subsist.

We ponder stanzas, we expand a one time verse forever.
To altars soiled of everything that was and is, we gift.

Here, reciprocity is consummated,
Nature is not obliged to return us anything.

It recycles everything,
eventually, even plastic.

Nature bestows,
we did not know we needed.

Three Months and Ticking

The recently born citizen has a sense of humor
which is the beginning of genius. She is all eye and ears
which is science, which is observation.

The e month old baby thinks her mother is God and that the guy
with the hairy arms might be a God branch office. She has a lot to learn.
The acquisition of knowledge translates into Paradise Lost.

Chain and Mail

On the southern corner of the lawn,
where the sundial action of the mountain initiates,
sits a bush squat and proud, a bush of barb
which stabs front and back if imprudently approached.

The bush is pissed. Who knows who or what
may have slighted him. Color iron his leaf
who wears a coat of chain and mail,
and decorates the season berry.

His head is tipped with bayonets,
and faithful every morning a bird perches on the helmet's crest,
and feasts on the half lid sun of mid December.
Think birds fragile?

Fragile like them we should be,
who keep their summer coats through wind freeze.
Now as to this narrator in your read, liken me not to the bird,
but rather to the bush on my front lawn.

In 1664, I migrated to Roanoke, Virginia from England.
Centuries earlier, in coat of chain and mail, I laid down my life
for God, Normandy and William The Conqueror.
Since then, regrets I've had more than a dozen.

On the subject of Roanoke's Lost Colony,
I'll recount you things no living soul has heard to date.
However, in countless migrations,
facts do get muddled.

Details blur,
details erase and sink.
So many nebulae to trip,
even we ghosts get fuzzy.

Purple

A purple monkey is in this room,
armed with ax and toy balloon.
A purple monkey is in my space,
wants to discuss not his but my mistakes.

A purple moon hangs above us all,
the habitat of snow white apes,
the most intolerant of all earth's creatures.
They carry tomes under their arms

of wrongs to right, of rights to massacre.
Identify the snow white apes, right now.
The aliens we married, sisters,
might be them in disguise.

Poetess in Autumn

Listen to the rustle and tumble of falling leaves.
This music, this is death and transfiguration.
This is God and rejuvenation. This is me,
a poetess in autumn.

I am a lady of night and white.
I am a girl of cool green.
I am of the Taiga.
Oceans of sand have I crossed.

The Sahara on camel.
On tramp steamer, Havana.
I saw Fulgencio Batista's last days.
My ears turn seashells to the horns of Harlem.

Tonight, I stand on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge,
awaiting a Gypsy troubadour to pen me a poem.
I am the fading light on the Palisades.
I am the sound of tires on rain-slick Central Park East.

Very Close and Finished

Neutrino is a tortoise particle that races Light around Albert Einstein's clock.
Light being a hare, he's faster than fast, but yawns when doing curvatures.
The rest is Aesop's' history.

The speed of atomic particles is plainly fixed. However, in astrophysics
(as in human sexology) the staying power of given subjects is less a matter
of how fast they go than how apt they are to hold fast to the groove in slow.

What's in A Label

Fat free label to me
is like a threat to subtract my uterus.

Were it not for our glorious fat,
we stout girls would be no better than skinny fags.