May 2017

twumpeet
a world hangs on
evewy word

pressure-cooked
in his uterine tomb
my son sheds his skin

seven billion
of us interpreting
silence

bent on freezing 
dewdrops on bended knees

post-op ward
the trickle-down effect
of catheters

mirror mist
I almost believe
that I'm real

manna . . .
dewfallen light
by darkness

cold comfort . . .
my breath blooms in
suspended animation

word-weak moon
awe erupts from me
in groans

half a day-moon
sunset cannot tint it
in blazing clouds

no trump deal
with each breath
caring less

leaf shadows
dancing with the languor
of the sun

right wing bias
passengers hurtle towards
a revolution

winter wind
a girl tunes in 
to the pine

may day! may day!
the entire shebang
is crashing down

leaf mulch
subject verb and object
in disarray

seven planes 
septangulating 
on still points