The Girl and The Bird

Flitter here, Little bird.

I see you dart
in canopy
Colors
caught in sunshine.

I
upon porch swing,
my weight
borne
chain
squealing
beneath Implacable

Steely Gaze

I
chipped
marble exterior.
You,
tiny and shining
transcendent
beauty

here

then gone

then back again.

The steel
of this frame
shaped by frustrated exhaustion
holds
the blood
and sweetness
of a heart
mesmerized
by Flower

Spring

Water.

Gaze held
frozen
by the sight
of

a
shining moon.

Alone in
a street

somewhere,
amazed.

You touched
me
without
hands
and
hold me
without will.

A Singular event
that ripples
throughout the world.

A shiver
through
the glass
of a windowpane
on impact.

Perfection in Aimlessness.

Color in air.

Reveling

Sweet

Confusion.

I whisper
softly

an entreaty
that always
you be
Free
and
Joyous.

Bad Neighborhood

He is all bad teeth
set ashiver
in wind
cutting
and cold.

Tells me
how the weather
is
turning rotten.

How he's homeless.

Needs forty bucks
has thirty-eight sixty five.

Do I got any pennies?

He's from fifth ward
down in Houston.
Rough neighborhood
says I probably
never
heard of
it.

I reach
in

d
e
e
p

give him two
dollars.

He asks if I can spare a smoke?

I can.

I tell him
I was
raised
no more than than
three miles from him.

I wish him luck........

But I don't say....

I don't say how
I see in his
face
the light of all creation.

How I know
how the whirlwind
gets in the thorn bush.

How the teeth
get broken
and useless
and wrecked.

How senseless
is the cruelty
of bad decisions
based on irrational desires
breed bad situations
that seem
so
far removed
from the warmth
of anything.

I choose not the share
on
long nights of
shivering
till teeth
rattle the skull
pushed up against
the cold concrete
of the
South Irving Transit Center.

I don't have the luxury
of entertaining
the idea
that his eyes
really are that
different
from those
of my beloved family.

Who,
in my arms
again
not twenty four hours ago
brought home
for
me
the reality
that love is real
and everything
and endlessly
binding
perception
all around
us
into the light
which
fits into the frame
of linear time.

I don't mention
how all of this
pain
and
cold
and
concrete
and
anger
and
rage
and
need
holy
never ceasing
godless need
screaming
naked in the street
bleeding in alleys
burning fingers
and pricking veins
and passed out
somewhere
alone,
is the illusion.

It's all back lighting
for the madman
inside our head.

Who is us.

Fog on our mirror.

How I know
about
bad neighborhood.

How I know
what it is
to worship death
like an angel
who will not
come calling.

No,
I
being what I am
being here,
being right now
here
know that
in all likelihood
I have just purchased a rock of cocaine
or a sliver of glass
or a gagging
cloying drink of malt liquor.

That my two pence may
hence bring more
not less
but more
misery.

But the things
that are of me
are of him
are of us all.

So I will pull
away.

I am free
of illusions
now.

Victor Munger

There is a blue bird
set atop the dashboard
of my truck.

Just a slip of a trinket.

She is a whistle.
But everyone sees a pipe at first.

Hobbes pulled her out
of the discarded
and piled up
heaps
of
that which remained
on the last night
of the move
from Victor Munger.

Salvaged her from dust and neglect.

Her eyes are offset
(weird angles)

Her beak is wrong
(too narrow)

But,
She is Robins' egg
Blue.
Summer sky
Beautiful.

And if you breathe your life's breath
into her.

She will make music for you.

Just like
the
house
once did.