THE HOT HINGES OF PARADISE

Sometimes I’m grateful

That the answer came from the man

(Tender as he seems)

And not from me

Me

Reeling back from the conundrum

His gender lead me

Knowing full well

Gender only suggests

That which abides behind reason

Is a matter of extrapolation

liberally laced with dna

Straight laced side by side

My irony in thinking it tender

When in actuality it burns to the quick

Any softness that word might imply

Such malaprop

Pours bitterness brewed darkly

Drunk after the fact

That tender artifice

Of tender word

Never knowing when rescue might come

Cinderella strikes flint

And finds her prince

In the bitter dregs

Doing battle

With the not so tender night

And sometimes I’m grateful

That the answer came from the man

(Tender as he seems)

And not from me

Rockin’ in the Free World!

Trek tires burgeon through mud
Streaming riven trail
Human footprints trace slow motion
I fly above them laughing
Black splashback
Mascaras my backpack
I laugh and will sunshine
to this wilderness of water, gravel, trees and slugs and smoke
In time for the next gathering under the pavilion
My will to join

Embedded encampments
Reinvent human interaction
Assured as much in practice as intent
Wet meadow grass interlaces buttercups wild roses saturated by three
days of rain my wheels splitting the Red Sea before me as
I ride

Viscous terra unfirma sticks to toe and robe
Crown and bare breast henna fingers beat the drum
Strings coax the pattern
The flute unfurls
We sing one word

Sun

Each lifetime chanted dreamed implanted
Virtue hangs predestined in our dna
Beyond intent
Cut free from the rest
I breathe it in
In motion breathe the Word

Sun

The ragged gray edge of the cloud quivers above us its edges lit
A sudden breath of air levitates the sky
As we in motion breathe the Word

Sun

If I get the opportunity to review my life via Tivo before I die, I think I might use the “slow motion” feature rather than the fast fwd. Ol’ Mr. D will just have to wait for every boring detail.