bitter tea

i rose before daylight
waited patiently with hot
cup of jasmine tea in hands
then finally the first golden
gingko leaf tumbled down
onto damp mossy flagstone
my autumn is here as
bitter tea hits my palate

11.11.11

it's not a crusade
save a couple beads
don't think it's new

don't think it's sacred
or with this red cross
i'll come for you too

as i came for myself
finding bloodied fingers

seeds

sleepy eyes and wandering fingers
teddy cat in my face when i wake

but her scent is still on our pillow
smile, inhale a sweet experience

a season may past, maybe a snow
in this clime, spring flowers are seeded

settings

i wake tangled in delicate strands of amber and honey
her sweetness and warmth are still on the linen
her marks are on my clothes like cat signs, "taken"

i only set out one coffee set but just for now
i have to pinch the third growth on tomato vines
she is not there sleepily in the morning sun at seven

in this interstitial i'll have to adjust portions for one
until later moons give tide to new harvests
then i'll have to wash dishes for two settings again

wheels

early in the morning
as i stretch my neck
round and round

lives of last nights' dreams
play in the forebrain
as a thousand tangled wheels

matin

Low sun cool air
Contrasts with memory
of her warm skin
While I stare at singing train tracks

racing

the mind races with coming dawn
soft bands of pale violet and periwinkle
ribbons of what will be washed ochre
chases shadows at tops of still tree tops

after dinner

sun lazily going down
after a satisfying dinner
palm fronds catching
slow breezes from bay
periwinkle sky turning violet

helios and eos

there is a dim grey sky
high above the still sycamores
but i know helios is chasing eos
and hot yellow rays are coming

summer

the tang of sour cream
on ripe black figs
play nicely with oolong's
bitter then sweet visit
on the tongue, in the nose

matin

the warming day
momentarily delayed
by cool air, scent of water

4th of july

on this day
my coffee is too sweet
to counter the idiocy
founding fathers
would resurrect themselves
to fix the ship of fools
in the large
white domed building

scent of water

i got up early
sprayed the patio
still in shade

and waited for the scent
of water to draft inside
sipping hot espresso

july

july's sun has breached the horizon. i feel the heat that is about to come.

church

it sucks
when you
can't say, "dad you told me once…"
because it never happened
it didn't happen
it never got the chance
to happen this
this in this moment
i see the point
i become gabriel and
i pierce the flesh i kill god
all becomes ash ash turns
into slurry turns into river
turns into a sea
i charred perfection from
this comes life micro organisms
fucking the wrong cells
because fucking doesn't exist yet
but they go on and on and on and
in millions of years later fucking
still goes on in light of the roman church
it goes on and on and on and life in
the foreseeable future continues

30 may 2011

Double Suture

(I think this has been brooding in my head. Last night in my sleep I had the vision of two sutures going through the same hole in bleeding skin. It was time to put it down on paper.)

This kind of pain is
like the pain of birth
but there is no new life.

It is pulling a double suture;
two needles, two threads
but one hole. It bleeds just the same.

The cries are mournful
just the same as those who cheer
in the streets though unaware.

Those getting drunk in musty bars
finding only blinding fog when they leave,
their path home is unclear.

The sand gives no direction,
their path shrouded in freedom
in a land with no compass.

3 May 2011

in the dark places

this is so haunting and beautiful i can't get it out of my head

Laura's Xmas Movie Bloopers

What if you ordered chicken fried steak and the server tells you the last one is gone?

What if you ordered chicken fried steak and the server tells you the last one is gone?

Answer here

formspring.me

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/equusignis

"All those experiences in life that i accumulate definitely gives me maybe we can call it a cooking wisdom." — Eric Ripert

fog

early morning
dense white fog
matches the limits
of my waking brain

16 january 2011