Sharper and Duller

I would not understand

how from trapped within a tornado

I stayed straight as a pencil

my sharp pointed led feet

spinning hastily on its eye

(though I doubt the prick was felt by anything)

my palms met above my shoulders

arms covering my ears from whirling cries and curses

my dull eraser head somehow remembered

how I could barley lift

an eye open to witness

such a twisted demolition

collecting all too familiar nouns

giving them flight only to throw

down their spirit

I would not understand

how scribbling the disaster

spared me from destruction

somehow leaving me

sharper and duller

A BLÜTHNER and the Fingers that Lay it Down

In the event anyone has walked on water, 
it would have been during a Chopin concerto.

A Blüthner taken for the seas,

and the fingers that lay it down

taken for a symphonic masters of waves. 

Amid black and ivory tides

melodies distinguish their fine-tune

by the fingers that lay it down.

Grasshoppers jump the bouncing keys,

pulling the strings of a pianoforte.

A bead of salt water rolled along the face

of the fingers that lay it all down,

filling the air so dense with romance,

I may have confused the sweat for a tear

in the Blüthner’s reflection

of hands twice over keyboards.

Eighty-eight tickles travelled the room

plinking about on pointed toes,

leaving a trail of smiles sitting upright

by the grand fingers that lay it down.

What Tames a Lion

Thunder cracks thick humid air

kicks an ear drum

and moves in my chest

like a lion’s roar.

Before bolts of light split trees

the skies turn jade,

sitting so still not even a blade of grass bends

under the quivering spines of prey.

As the lion waits to pounce,

high heat crashes!

slapping fields with sonic snarls,

drowning any animal’s cry;

whipping the lion’s rumble

until muted and tamed.

Fuel for a Fire

where wind passes through a hollow

a ghost carries

aired tan bones

like a pile of kindling

fuel for a fire

lit amongst the fog

of a grey man floating

without borders

where stones meet stones

a heart carries

white bones covered in flesh

like a pile of pride

fuel for a fire

lit amongst the wreckage

of red covered fields

with borders

where just before soaring
a soul carries

timed bones

like a pile of truth

fuel for a fire

lit amongst the passing breath

of gratitude

Momentary Hiccups

When awe-stunned time stands motionless,

taken back by a force, so strong,

gasping for air.

           up,

a hicc

is an unexpected happening

suddenly changing circumstances

As if a dice not asked to be rolled

was,

in your honor.

At any moment will time take hiccups away?

Anomalies fill chests

with a bottomless breath of crisp fresh

depth and dynamism.