Slippery Sax

"Crystal White Detergent"
	-- that's mine.
		'That's nice', he blew, no words.
	You knew just what he said,
		with that two-note thing,
		biting hard,
		filling cheeks,
		tearful logic,
		love, much chaos:
'Pale wrist submerged'.
	'Beat that', he blew,
		and I, with
uncharacteristic hesitation,
	I ...groped, my
halleluahs submerged
reverent suds
	detergent discovered
		on a mental counter.
	One last challenge,
		he blew again:
'I cannot do this, cannot cannot Kana...'
		...who tail-waggled in,
		knowing her wordless name,
	tootled in puddly notes lazing low
		around his feet.
	She lapped up sounds and
		loosed me,
			forgotten --
	I was no man again, and
		he won,
			no words
	against my slippery syllables.

-- Eric Kofoid & Kelly Sullivan


"You must have someone
	from then —
	a trusted aunt or uncle?
	a family friend?
Who might remember
	more clearly,
	more objectively
	what happened?"

No one, not one
	from then
	that I can trust,
	who knew me,
	who won't tell.

Salty Ride

You decided not
	to dance,
Instead, toured this
	salty valley
Added your tears to
	our great lake —
Missed us while not
	wanting us —
Thought I missed
	the point,
And didn't know I
	was in the car
	with you.

Rose Day

Last week's flowers wilted,
	petals fell,
	water fouled,
	thrown away with
		scraps of food —

"One bud"
	and she added a fern leaf,
	crinkly wrapper,
	red bow
		and smile —

Warmly taken,
	coldly received,
Rose lies ignored on
	sunny table,
	trying to be seen.

Oregon Juncos

Black-capped bandits
	in from Oregon,
Scattering last year's leaves,
Scaring the cat
	(white as snow lying about him),
Jumping, pausing, darting —
	chaos makers —

"Look, Aelric!",
	then gone,
	daddy's a liar —

What's in that mass
	of cherry limbs
that draws you back
	each year?

Lost Poems

Ten years ago, I moved from Salt Lake to California and lost neighbors, views, streams, opera, a packet of poems from 1996, and so much more — but, last week I stumbled across the poems.

It was exhilarating and emotional, like coming out of a suicidal coma and finding life is wonderful after all!

Well… a little like that. Maybe just a touch, for this very specific event.

Hmmm… To tell the truth, life has actually been quite interesting this last decade. The discovery was a bit of a rush, a stimulant, an exhilarant, a mood elevator.

A better metaphor: Imagine that you discover that the little toe on your right foot, which you thought you’d chopped off with an axe 10 years ago, has all along been folded in a peculiar fashion under the other four toes, and that a little clever autochiropractic manipulation pops it right out — now when you prance on naked tippy toes around the house, everything feels just right.

More like that, perhaps, than the suicidal coma.

See them here, if you wish, but, for the most part, they are raving doggerel. They are purposefully scrambled. Do not try to find any thematic continuity in their arrangement.

Morning Anger

-- with apologies to Bryan Singer

The worst is remembered longest,
	this cumulative burden
	overwhelms in time —
Such as, my morning angers,
	swirling out of
	evaporating nightmares,
	diaphanous, beloved —
These fifteen minute irritations
	parade twenty four hours
	through your brain
Like typing "Guatemala".