RipRap

January Evening

Headlights swing into the line of wind
pouring up the driveway; a car door slams.
Her quick footfalls rush towards me.

January Morning

Fall

As they do

From the sky

Just shy

Of the lake

They are it's effect

On air

 

The flakes

Their dander

Lifted by the light

Cold

Wind

 

I gander

As

Each

One

Singles out

A different

Current

In the gathered

Torrent

 

 

Dry river

Below Hawk Hill

Walking

Through the woods

Below Hawk Hill

Oh the rain falls
Clicking it's tongue
On each leaf edge

Here

The seepage
Permeates spaces

Between leaf         and twig

The wiggle room

Japonnaiserie (v.v.g)

The black silhouette of the apple tree
against the street lights on Church street
is the flowering plum.

Muse III

Gently, probing with her tongue, the places where his eyes had been,
she replaced them with bronze Hazels.
The world and each thing now burns in beauty. 

Muse II

She found him lost by the Hazel tree where the three rivers sprang
into the world. In one blow with her staff he fell and was imprisoned with Birch branches. She took his eyes in her mouth.

Muse

For instance, if she hadn't come to him in a dream

he wouldn't have known her at all. But she approached

with mint on her lips and he never let her go.

Horse bits

In Henrietta NY, Ms. S. Banker asked for permission to pet the Sheriff''s horse before she fell under it and was killed. She may have been drunk.

Novels In Three Lines

Luc Sante has selected the best of anarchist and art critic Felix Feneon's vignettes ... think I will try this type of brevity for a while.
As an exercise to hone my language a bit.

keys

The syncopation of the unseasonable January rain
taps the window, runs the drain, in rhythm with
Brad Mehldau's fingered keys.