CIRCADIAN CLOCK NO.6
from The Master Circadian Clock Cycles 1-8
Pergola on fire;
the reminiscent coalesces
with breathless robes of doubt.
Honeyed covenants perfuse,
lacking preemptive right.
Devout and impetuous,
demanding restless unquiet.
reams of abyss to exist.
You are dismissed.
a variation on peregrina (the rover)
CIRCADIAN CLOCK NO.5
from The Master Circadian Clock Cycle 1-8
like a cat
wandering along sill,
eyeing the moon
with wide yellows
and long jowls;
The Ninth Symphony
crawls into crashing sycophancy-
but only inside your head,
and in the flap flap
of domestic curtain ropes,
golden for you.
Snowy Brooklyn hood
the peninsula’s lusty line
with wind bustling through porches.
Lady Manhattan, stoically xenophobic,
lies still beneath her cloak.
Prospect Park sleeps, as good as dead
hides the sleeping life
in her pillowy bed-
the hipster’s last
I had a dream once,
this night in fact,
of sitting still
with pomegranate juice
rolling down my chin,
and of little bliss roller coasters
climbing up my brain.
Forcing you onto me will not a child make.
Forgetting nothing about the foraging nights,
we scurry forward into the cluttered earthquake
of leftover bee bodies and diverted flights.
We choose the bushes without needing to hide.
The starkness of a chestnut glazed table
willing to stare back at me with a dare.
It challenges with a static potential,
that which only a table can muster.
I cannot be envious of that.
But I do envy that on it sits a brazil nut
contoured by shadow.
A brazil nut that
too may desire purpose.
If it could,
if it were not
just a legume.
Though it too has grown out of itself.
I being more than a nut,
or at the very least
greater than or equal to,
do percolate with such desire.
But lying here, wrapped in chenille and scarves
find the realization of my purpose
much further off than the arm’s length
fulfillment of our artless brazil nut’s fate.
If I do extend my non-hungry palm
I will eat the nut, for the sake of Brazil.
But instead, as accustomed to,
I will not force purpose into my palm.
Thus, I continue to sit.
Encloaked less by blanket
than by denial.