Acrosterigma cygnorum

Acrostics and anagrams 

hover on the Australian horizon. 

Dusk only falls on open books.

[LSS, 2/28/21] 

Words, Words, Words

The words they come and go
like spokes on a bicycle wheel.
Spinning and returning to
the beginning.

Beginnings and endings
blend together, until there are just
words
going in circles.

We dropped
philosophy and metaphysics,
spirituality and emotional subjectivity.
We dropped dogs versus cats.

We dropped
intimate wanderings, long vacations,
justification and arrogance.
We dropped pride.

Polonius: “What do you read, my lord?”
Hamlet: “Words, words, words.”
—Hamlet

[RK, 2/28/21]

Bicycle, Bagel, Baby Dolphin, Baby Osprey, Backed-Up Traffic, Boisterous Heat, Blank Hours
 
Remembering the things
beginning with a “B”
as I review
Thursdays and Saturdays.
 
[RK, 2/28/21]

Snow Moon

The particulars slip off
the tip of the pencil.
I’ll just sit here beneath the light.

Light’s intimacy brings back
tight memories when each full moon
was invested with meaning.

Awaiting revelations
I end the brief interlude
brushing away mosquitoes.

[RK, 2/28/21]

Daily Ritual

We always think 

of one last thing 

to do before 

we leave the house 

and that is how 

we keep ourselves 

from dying.

[LSS, 2/26/21]

Deadbolt, Doorknob, Threshold, You

Touching the things  

containing an “O”

as I walk

through the door.

[LSS, 2/26/21]

Snow Moon

A day without a plot,

full moon lighting the stage,

no lines to memorize, no curtain calls, no encores,

only the intermission 

of arbitrary, self-imposed 

restrictions.

[LSS, 2/26/21]

Debate

To talk or not to talk,
philosophical conversations or
just archetypal weather observations.

Sans the inclination to tangle,
we reach an acute angle
pointing the way.

The way is narrow.
The way is shallow.
Along came a spider.

“In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.”—The Comedy of Errors

[RK, 2/26/21]

Faulty

I imagine I have no fault coverage
in timely social interactions.

The underlying surrounding disdain
proves me wrong.

All fall down.

“Nihil peccat, nisi quod nihil peccat.”
(His only fault is that he has no fault.) —Pliney the Younger, Letters, Book IX, 26

[RK, 2/26/21]

The Longest Part of the Journey

Every moment I take the first step.
I am constantly told it is easy.

Nobody mentions
the multiplicity of gates.

“Portam itineri dici longissimam esse.”
(The longest part of the journey is said to be the passing of the gate.)
—Marcus Terentius Varro, De Re Rustica

[RK, 2/25/21]


Crane v. Phoenix

Origami cranes become friable and bitter.
They crumple with the passing of years.

My portfolio is an empty hard shell case
and the memory of brushes.

Pencils and paper create new images
unique and fine, and yet

what’s that burning smell?
The Phoenix reinvents itself.

“Ars adeo latet arte sua.”
(So art lies hid by its own artifice.)
Ovid—Metamorphoses, Book X

[RK, 2/25/21]

Rite of Spring

I want the light 

to be like that again, 

the way it was that day 

the grasshoppers hatched 

out of the orchid pot 

on the kitchen table 

and flew out the door 

I leave open for them

in case they decide 

to come back home.

[LSS, 2/23/21]

Tomorrow’s Itinerary

We are planning to travel 

through a blizzard,

over a mountain pass,

into the barren plains,

and maybe back again,

to escape the sameness  

of our perfect home climate.

[LSS, 2/23/21]

Internal Frankenstein

The central nervous system

and the enteric nervous system

are attempting to construct 

a third nervous system

to handle the overflow 

of news, facts, reactions, 

sorrows, and recipes 

for the perfect chocolate cake.

[LSS, 2/23/21]

Night Funeral

The coyotes are clearing 

their throats of bones and burs, 

running their voices 

through the lower scales, 

rehearsing their dirges 

for the moment I fall

asleep in their cathedral.

[LSS, 2/22/21]

Song Bird

You’ll have plenty of time 

to sing about loss 

after you release the sparrow.

[LSS, 2/22/21]

The Oracle

Plato had his cave, Sartre his Nausea,
Catullus had Clodia, Vargas Llosa his cathedral.
Lispector and Kafka had their cockroaches.
Hildegaard had her crystals and green wisdom.

I’ll leave you boxes, envelopes, bins, empty shelves,
neatly stacked cupboards, bare walls.
A force fed force of dry grains,
a granary of cans and jars.

The 11^th edition of the OED has always been to my liking.
Today it is 110 years old.
This knowledge we leave behind.
This knowledge we take with us.

“Some oracle must rectify our knowledge.”—The Tempest

[RK, 2/22/21]

Doubt

Those awkward footsteps follow me
through days of light and laughter.

Seriously, I can’t grasp the happiness.
Questions about self-esteem come into play.

Long ago doubt was vanquished with
wonderful commission checks for the artwork.

Our bi-weekly adult report cards
played close to the chest.

This too, turned out to be a sham,
albeit a fourteen-year-long sham.

Nothing can erase the tingling
at the back of my wrinkled neck.

You would think I would know better.
Yes, I know better. I know better.

“He was expected then, but not approached.”—Cymbeline

[RK, 2/22/21]

The Book of Words

Chapter 1.       I am bored.

Chapter 2.       I make decisions. Decisions are made. Rude stars prance and preen, pontificate about equality and acceptance – while slicing open unripe fruit behind their backs.

Chapter 3.       A new dance craze is called “Walk Away.” Unlettered in Christian “In Egg Shells Is Day-O,” I bone up on Kierkegaard parables. They bring neither rest nor wisdom.

Chapter 4.       Random thoughts percolate, dissemble, cough up the do-re-me.

Chapter 5.       Lackluster DDS and Bland DVM swipe detector pens across my personal checks.

Chapter 6.       The megachurch atrium is crammed with wild-eyed wisdom. It evaporates in the light of day. You text me: “. . . texts are sometimes not communicated correctly.”

Chapter 7.       Remembering, I end the conversation.

“I am not such a truant since my coming as not to know the language I have lived in.”—Henry VIII

[RK, 2/21/21]

Eggshell Sky

I wake up at the edge of an abandoned flooded quarry.
Or did I imagine that?
A red rock quarry. Black water. Blurred because I took off
my eyeglasses.
Strangers.
That day I forgot to look up.
I guess the day expanded
even as my comprehension contracted.
The explosions happened and happened.
For me, the social fabric was eggshell thin and
blue as Caribbean seas.

Beautiful blue. Beautiful skies.
Blurry as faded photographs,
blurry as this flurry of words.
These erasure crumbs scattered across the floor.
This hurry to fulfill each day.

[RK, 2/21/21]

Pandemic Etiolation 

All these seedlings, 

all these days,

exiled on the windowsill

reaching for the future, 

weak, pale, and blind.

[LSS, 2/21/21]

 

Lost Puzzle Piece

The missing piece fell from my pocket
in nineteen-eighty-one, jangled together
with brass disks scooped from the foundry floor.

The brass, the key, the camouflaged
conundrum. The hesitant, half-uncertain
backwards glance to no avail.

The station wagon half-filled with
six dozen unnecessary scraps.
Not one was the missing piece.

You might think I would dwell
on the fact of disappearance, the
birthday party magic trick.

Special events fall to the side.
One morning I wake, intending to
set things right.

I did not notice it was missing
until I wanted to be idealistic
and I had not heard from you

for years.

[RK, 2/19/21]


A Cloud of Ghosts

Ships once crowded a small harbor
and everyone clamored for passage.

I asked myself, quo vadis?
and the quay became silent.

I thought people were close and
tight fisted with intimacies.

We fledged with uncertainty and
sophomoric radiant auras.

This carried us, carried me
through real and imagined days.

Now I pace a washing-away island and
Watch ships dip below the horizon.

“There are three kinds of people: the quick, the dead, and those who sail the sea in ships.” —Attributed to Anacharsis, 6^th century BCE Scythian philosopher.

[RK, 2/19/21]

Valentine 2

Almost-spring in the subtropical zone
President’s Day, Ash Wednesday,
International Polar Bear Day.

Expectations diminish rapidly.
The quick and the dead change places.
Each Airbnb has the “wow” factor.

Cell service is non-existent
on well-paved, rarely used
country highways.

That card was lost in the mail, or
you forgot to sign it. Actually
you never sent it.

[RK, 2/17/21]

Valentine 1

riddled with hours
part time, full time
time after time

I await a verdict
emotions do not fit in
prosecuted with no parole

the natural lifespan of
three score and ten
is just enough time

[RK, 2/17/21]


Time Travel

This only works for short periods of time.
A day, a fortnight, a month, tops—
then oddly, moments loop back
to where I started.

The O.E.D. lacks
a proper definition.
It’s an organic natural event.
It happens when I am distracted.

The R.E.M. state begins, all
choppy video and random audio.
Nothing is connected.
I cannot convince you otherwise.

Electricity and magnetism figure in.
Occam’s razor figures in, and
like Cassandra, no one believes
the time traveler’s tales.

[RK, 2/17/21]


Pincushion

I pretend it’s a hedgehog
porcupine, prickly pear,
Rhodesian Ridgeback.

Flaunt the obvious and
emit your uncertain polar light.
I’ll name you Aurora.

Carpet tacks, pushpins, and thin
tungsten wires. The softness
between push and cushion.

[RK, 2/17/21]

Piñata

Gaudy tissue paper skin
and instead of candy,
a stomach of wishful thinking.

I tried to slit open the sky
but the sky heals its own wounds.
You called it correctly.

I look up, photograph
random clouds, flocks of birds,
allow rain to speckle me.

The envelope has a six cent stamp
and the address is faded.
I’m always slitting it open.

[RK, 2/17/21]

Newsreel

I polished all the mirrors

and set them decades ahead

of the nearest light switch

so we can see which one of us 

will be the first to disappear 

when the film begins to burn 

in the projector.

[LSS, 2/16/21]

Snow Angels and Self-Portraits Drawn in Steam on the Bathroom Mirror

Things I made today

while looking for a reason

to make some other things

that stood a better chance.

[LSS, 2/16/21]

Lost in the Museum

If you look, you can find me in this painting 

kissing a mysterious woman leaning out

over the velvet rope, admiring her self-portrait, 

her masterpiece painted centuries ago

and quite unlike the style of her master 

whose name is inscribed on the plaque.

[LSS, 2/16/21]

Last Circus

My feet lifted off the ground 

as I watched the birds fly home

with the last bits of straw 

from the elephant cage.  

[LSS, 2/15/21]

Valentine

Open the gate 

for the deer 

to browse 

among the winter 

greens.

[LSS, 2/14/21]

Gardening Schedule

Pull the winter weeds, 

maintain the woodland paths

so the hungry deer can find 

their way to your garden 

which you have enclosed

in a wire fence to keep 

away the browsers.

[LSS, 2/13/21]

Reading in Bed

I fall asleep on my back

book spread open 

pages 38-39 slumbering 

like an infant on my chest.

I wake just before dawn, 

turn to face the window, 

watch the snow falling

on endnotes, page 400. 

[LSS, 2/12/21] 

Four O’Clock Blues 

Your saving grace

was that you slit 

only the envelope 

and not the entire sky 

in your fever to know 

what was hidden inside 

that gaudy piñata.

[LSS, 2/12/21]

Tempest in a Teapot

Pepper brings on sneezing
there is no pleasing the waves,
sky, gull, sand.

It’s a metaphorical dance
among dried seaweed
and mangrove wrecks.

I take a chance.
Or, fail to remember
a saving grace.

Slit open the envelope.
Roll up the announcement and
stuff it in a bottle.

Beachcomber wrack and
the trek back to the
parking lot.

Slim chance, no chance,
what is chance?
A metaphor for sneezing.

[RK, 2/11/21]


Narwhal Metaphor

not the olive or whelk
the oyster or conch
but the three centimeter

white auger shell
reduced, shrunken
this is a mistake

possibly, probably,
patently true if it
reminds me of you

[RK, 2/11/21]

Anecdote of the Open Road

Pickle jar full of trucker piss

thrown into a roadside ditch

reflecting the glow of the moon,

a beacon in the night.

[LSS, 2/11/21]

Boarding House

The landlady untethers her house

and lets it drift until her windows 

frame a fresh series of paintings 

to entertain the paying guests.

[LSS, 2/11/21]

Blueprint Blues

You didn’t like 

that house,

clinging so hard 

to the rubble

of its foundation,

so you erased it.

Now you’re drawing 

this house 

adding rooms on top

of other rooms

and painting the walls

to look like windows

looking out over some

abstract landscape

that means nothing

now and never will 

until you add 

the ladders and stairs

and invite someone

to join you.

[LSS, 2/9/21] 

Boudoir

You walk into the room

and feel the inevitable swaying

of the walls around you.

Having confirmed your size 

and assessed the general

fitness of your form,

they wrap their latex arms

around you and draw you

in for the night.

[LSS, 2/9/21]

Suspended Animation

You are patiently waiting 

beneath the sea ice,

the water absorbing and repeating

your treading motions,

until someone swimming

in a warmer ocean

sends a message inscribed 

on a narwhal tusk 

telling you it’s safe 

to go back home. 

[LSS, 2/9/21]

 

Your Octopus Heart

In the rush toward spring
your octopus heart
tires quickly.

Guests spy on you
over a neatly placed
centerpiece.

You’ve chosen burnt umber
umbrels and tatted
Queen Anne’s Lace.

Dinner chat turns to seasons.
Your octopus heart
tires quickly.

[RK, 2/8/21]


Yet Another Winter (after Pinching Weeds)

Those weeds sprout in your dreams
and fill pouches with pollen and
yellow composites.

Flip-flop between what is expected
and what you thought
you wanted.

[RK, 2/8/2021]


Full Moon Burning Ritual

A setting moon lights
the garden wall.

A rising moon frackles
in bare tree branches.

Going up or down
takes on new meaning.

“I will let go” becomes
“I am letting go.”

[RK, 2/8/21]


New Moon Burning Ritual

No bucolic names
for that which is unseen.

Look up, redeem
your lost faith.

[RK, 2/8/21]


The X-Ray Possibilities of Fig #5

Have you considered tomography as opposed to geography?
Look in instead of on. That lead shield is just a shield.
Every shield eventually yields.

Have you considered psychology instead of sibilant undertones?
Co-dependency is so 1980s. Put those pruning shears and
cross-country skis to good use.

Have you considered how round stones look like dinosaur eggs?
Your guests cannot tell the difference. Consider shirring them
into breakfast or picnic crêpes.

Have you considered the side effects of your X-ray vision?
More noise is added to the therapy file. Blueberries and
fallen trees call your name aloud.

[RK, 2/8/21]

Writing Crop Circles

This was difficult in the Midwest
where small, irregular quadrilaterals
defined the agriculture we knew.

Was it any different during your
little house on the prairie decades?

My southwest mountain sojourns
missed the huge desert whorls of
alfalfa, lettuce, and cotton.

I made toxic notes to that effect
in coded language I no longer understand.

Now we go down to ocean shores
where crop circles reinvent themselves
and pulse in fractal waves.

Observers will claim indifference.
We know better.

[RK, 2/7/21]


Partial New Me

All the bottle caps I collected as a child.
All the book clubs I belonged to as a pre-teen.
All the movies I recorded on videotapes from broadcast TV.
All the scratchy library Mozart albums I copied onto cassette tapes.
All the documents I saved on floppy disks.
All the leases, cars, and furniture.
All the friendships and posturing.
All the organic honey and glorious weeds.
All the memorized light and sound.
All the winter constellations.
All the photo albums.

Documented, filed, unfiled, deactivated.
Clean slates, new leaves.
The imagined escape and
watered down revisions.

The upshot shot through with shots.
Blank, blank, blank.

[RK, 2/7/21]


Bad Invalid

WON’T recline or rest
WON’T admit temporary defeat
WON’T allow the milk to curdle

WILL slam a book to the floor
WILL intentionally crush weeds
WILL tear up unsent letters

[RK, 2/7/21]

Coronavirus #4

People are coming down the trail.
Put on the mask.

Alone, take off the mask.
Alone.

Supermarket crowd deserving of
two masks.

Alone, kitchen board games,
comfort food.

Laundry, white cotton,
the perfect clothesline, and
crisp February breeze.

[RK, 2/7/21]

Asemia Epiphany

The illiterate broken dish,
eroded seashell, pencil stub.

The garden slug, pitchfork,
fascicles of firewood.

Like Na'ashjé'íí Asdzáá, the thread unspools
from your hand and runs away.

Caught, you feed the sewing machine.
Language takes hold of your intent.

[RK, 2/7/21]

World’s Largest Ball of String Reconsidered

The life lines of marionettes,
unhinged and predictable.

Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos
laugh into their espressos.

[RK, 2/7/21]

How Can You? (after Sleepwalker)

The summer light, just so,
but which way was North?
Insignificant scars collected in childhood,
their meaning ultimately forgotten.

You memorized song lyrics.
They return, lead you from the bed.
Your capable footsteps
keep rhythm with musical hooks.

Are you certain you are awake?
Awkward dreams fill to capacity
with memories so gray
they appear stolen.

[RK, 2/7/21]


An Explanation of Why Moving Forward is Impossible

Don’t you miss creating 
the sunrises and the eclipses?
Don’t you miss tattooing 
your own skin? 
I reach back and pull rabbits
from my portfolio. The punters
are not amused. In fact, they are
incoherent, nonplussed, and bored.

What could you possibly 
be doing right now? 
I can only imagine.
I’m drawing circles that look like
the flip side of a top hat. Inside
are those fast paced animals
I used to fuel my intentions.

Maybe it takes that long 
to bleach away the old 
designs, the symbols that 
no longer pertain,
to erase the transcripts  
of mountains of mistakes.
It is an awkward thing, to constantly
burn memories on scraps of paper
absolving one’s self of complicity
in the production of abstract thoughts.
You once told me, “Words mean everything.”
I only partly believed you.
I thought the brushwork holy
as waterfalls and gravity.

Whatever your story, 
I am waiting.  
This is a fraction
of the story.

[RK/LSS, 2/7/21]

The Symbols that No Longer Pertain

the tarot reading
the wheel of fortune
the clover leaf
the gold ring
the homestead exemption
the courthouse license
the engraved invitation
the belief in cause and effect
the indemnity clause
the living will
the power of attorney
the engraved stone

[RK, 2/7/21]


The Wheel

barrel hoops bind
baritones chime

a pushpin pushed
into a spare tire

tuned aeolian harps
lack codas

solicitation burnishes
this archetypal circle

[RK, 2/7/21]