Sunday, November 23, 2014

Scioto Snow



Prints cross ice;
imagine a doe
coaxed to the river,
enveloped in lust
and white.

Gloved fingers,
breath exhaled
like anxious chimneys;
all of me
in your pocket.

We thrust low,
confound the cold,
unable to see beyond
the crosshatch of blue ash
and sycamore.

Wonder how
this flux can survive;
fresh unbodied rush,
metallic, more feverish
than spring.


tk/November 2014



Exquisite read by R.A.D. Stainforth...





Sunday, November 16, 2014

Outerbelt



Speedway soars
without pit or champion.
Glow of dashboard.
Echo of centrifugal force.

Cars never cross the finish line
bleached with tire marks.
White-knuckled steering wheels.
Endless narrow-eyed loop.

At night there is no grandstand. 
I am the only fan.  Awake.
Dizzy with silent exhaust.
Inhaled secrets.

Drivers envy the cool
underside of my pillow.
I hide under the covers.
Dream headlong.


tk/November 2014


Charming read by R.A.D. Stainforth and Amy the cat...





Sunday, November 9, 2014

American




Convict me of dandelions
and large puddles of ketchup,
the June scent of Scioto rain.

At breakfast I get drunk on Bach,
with a chaser of Copland and Joplin,
hotdogs from a cart, by noon.

Find me guilty of eating at the kitchen sink,
ordering drive-thru McDonald's fries
you shotgun, me in a Stetson.

I pretend to hate mosquitoes on the Fourth of July
come at me with sparklers, buckeyes,
those little American flags stapled to sticks.

I want to pursue our life, liberty, and happiness,
but there's something you should know

I love A. Lincoln, shamelessly.



tk/May 2013 


R.A.D. Stainforth...a rare step out of his black and white world...





Sunday, November 2, 2014

Poppy



I save the red nostalgic kiss.

After the longest moment of silence,
press the petals to my lips.

I have kept the faith, knowing I would love
and be loved, intimately

remember how November lies,
cenotaph on the other side of the Atlantic.

I am like a ghost who signals,
hears the same blood-beat in my ear;

chance shrapnel delivers
the opiate churning up of earth.

This late-flowering lust.



tk/November 2014


Excellent read by R.A.D. Stainforth...love the rare smile...