Kiss (x4)

Little Spud in the Big Apple

The kiss on my cheek,
I lay quiet,
pulling the heavy duvet
over my crunched body
becoming something more of a bean
than a being:

and soft
and soft
and soft
and soft
all four quickly in succession
across the thin, David Bowie shape of my jaw
it’s impossible to tell which is what
or where the feather of the kiss lies
if it is in my skin
or your lips
my best guess is that it lives
somewhere between the spaces
The particles that are slung,
like so many shooting stars,
around the galaxy of your mouth
And south, north, east, west,
directions that take pages to explain
directions that can only be explained
with the unlimited passing of time
Skirting and dancing,
creating the gentle feather of each soft peck;

There is paint in this moment,
universes and microcosms
enveloping and unfolding,
stars burning down,
the world slowly…

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To Pass On

To Pass On
by Snide Gary (a.k.a. Me)

It’s never right
never the same twice
never the same slice
of silence

Jennifer had golden hair
often laced, in spring, with
pointed yellow petals
she was, to the land, and us,
a star tulip

But now, she’s a thought
crusted & dry in need
of wine and more silence

The task is not pleasant
between moments

I need tools — and education
as to their proper use

 

What Have I Learned

What Have I Learned
by Gary Snyder

What have I learned but
the proper use for several tools?

The moments
between hard pleasant tasks

To sit silent, drink wine,
and think my own kind
of dry crusty thoughts.

—the first Calochortus flowers
and in all the land,
it’s spring.
I point them out:
the yellow petals, the golden hairs,
to Gen.

Seeing in silence:
never the same twice,
but when you get it right,

you pass it on.

Wild Cucumber? No

So I had to go back through and relabel all recent images and references to Wild Cucumber over the last month or two.   I was mistaken.  The plant is Red or White Bryony.   There is some Wild Cucumber growing in the same neighborhood but Bryony it is.

What’s Beautiful

Little Spud in the Big Apple

It’s the comedown of it all.
the after
splash,
falling back,
air rushing out of faux down,
feeling the thought rush in,
remembering that sweat is a response to heat
not a cause of it.
That natural occurrences are sometimes all that are needed to peel our psyche away from the glass of existence and send our paper-thin souls reeling into a bluish silk of several eternal moments.

It’s the exhalation that resonates into laughter,
the feeling of someone’s hand on your face,
the unlocked portions of yourself
quietly turning,
the tumblers of your most sacred secrets falling into place,
moments shared,
unspoken thoughts whispered,
textures unknown catalogued by the brushing of finger tips,

It’s the electricity that becomes part of a cycle through two souls,
from a distance they are an infinity symbol;
an “O” with a half-twist like a lime peel;
a Möbius Strip of tongue and massaged…

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