soft sight

the world is getting
softer—a
bleeding of
sharp cut
silhouette into
pools of
blue-green
monet
step-back
view
i see
i hear
mouths move on—words
marbled hymns
of hum
to the drum
constant commotion
time-lapsed
ribbons
of light
dance across
the horizon
my eyes cast
forward
to catch
shadows
of
the past
the past
was such a
doris day

it may be time to get new glasses

talk of men

words
in my mouth
lead shot
poured molten
in the cast of my
father’s workshop
table talk of
miners
men
bold in
tone
taunt
words
winter
breath
crystal shards
glass cold
words
fall
dust on the floor
un-swept in their
lay
piles of intention
words
dressed
green camouflage
discharged
aimless buckshot
spray
words
of arrows
wet stone
sharpen
pulled compound
meaning
in release
pierce
innocent flesh
to bleed
words
wet flow
of iron—y
words
in my
woman's
lipsticked
mouth

I feel the need to spit

psgates