The Poetry Marathon

Right now
it’s low days
quiet that quakes deep
the wanting felt all over
a body hurt a body whole
the intricacy of circuits,
pathways carved out
where all this stays.

Right now
the minutes stretch
though the day has gone quick—
it slows up
marking a box on a grid
until they are all blue exes.

Right now is here
this unsettled feathered
notion sitting at the bottom
an unstable foundation
about to crumble
crash down.

And then

there has to be
something
beyond right here right now.

Otherwise there’s no point in
sunrise, summer storms, or
stars; no reason for pink sand,
high wires, or  windmills;
no value in all the years
all the subtle glances all
the all in all overwhelming
wonder this expanding universe
has to offer in a tiny locket
hanging from a thin silver string.

I close the clasp at the nape of my neck
clutch the charm to my chest
brushing aside any semblance of hope—
an unwarranted expectation for
unpredictable desire— and instead
fall into the complete confidence of faith,
knowing this now is different from the last
and will keep renewing
into a life worth living over and over again.

A last shot final phase
running on full glaze
a whirred out notion
tied up to the hilt
of guilt and smile–
let it rip run terrify
until the magnifier
loses its lens
a plastic handle
left in hand.
You’ve got this.
Keep it up on high
blow it out
make it magic
chase the rainmaker
and wave your withered
flag only when it’s
over on your own terms.

quick to quake
caught in the castle
no bow no ribbon
no arrow no quiver
shaking sound
soothing swag
gauze hangs down
it’s broken not broke

When you have an ache in your neck and you know it’s from stress
name it stress.
When you have pulling in your neck so hard that your head won’t bend forward
name it Charles.
When you have an explosion up through to the top of your skull
name it winter.
When you have a throbbing on both sides above your ears and you know, you know,
name it sand.
When you have a shooting pain behind each eyeball and you think you know
name it twilight.
When you have a bloody nose
name it forgiveness.

Priorities shift
when the heart is cleaved
clean through:

An axe attack
fiery blue

her hollyglass filled
with dead seeds—

She wants him back.

He’s already headed into
the woods
felled another life
splinters in his wake.

Mornings for looking ahead
no longer for futurecast
and instead
for the unknotting
from the inside out.

The thunderstorms have been
promised by the radar

Oven at 400
kitchen melts

Languid days rush
away away

Contradiction
contraction

Later the skies close
the world stops starts

Been listening to One Fast Move Or I’m Gone
the soundtrack to Kerouac’s Big Sur
and it’s as if I’ve been listening for years
never stopping always looping
and making the lyrics my life
even when I’m not sure of every
word and even when I can’t
remember if I read Big Sur
and if I did read it, if I
understood it and I probably
didn’t because I love him
the way any woman loves a man
who drinks and writes and
runs around on her
and his words mean everything to
my little heart even though I
never quite get them because
they exist always out of reach in fast
type scrolled and pounded
and I could never live a life
like that. And still, I listen
to the lilt and twang and
I hold hope that something
gives so I can finally go.

The empty body
stays empty

long after the rest
of the world moves on

She’s got numbers
She’s got neighbors

She’s got nothing but
time on her hands

She’s gotta get home
quick. She’s gotta

get up get right
get herself together

She’s got lace
She’s got lumen

She’s got everything
in the palm of her hand

When we feel old
the years have drifted
without us