Eyewitness to Bibliomancy

At my wits' end 
By all I see before me, 
I pick a book I believe

To hold truth; I balance it 
On its spine and allow it 
To fall open; with eyes closed 

I pick a passage and let truth flow 
Back through my fingers 
To the future

Till it blinds me.

from Nostos Sensuous

                              vantage point

on all sides

clear

monotonous

cry

of gulls sweeping back

dappled-gray tears

blue sky

.

                              headland

yet no sweet home here

save the heart

buffeting

.

breaking of waves

that convoy unrequited

love cross every wind

.

swept rock

.

                              inlet

there—

sun pockets glistening crystals stranded

in small salty recesses

 

.

                     

                              on a sour note

hardly any

song to assuage

the bitter imminent

light sapping home sickness

.

                              transients at bay

ships huddled in harbor

masses anchored on quay.

                        

Soul Food: Eating One's Heart Out

Let’s get one thing clear, chéri— 
Some brainless poetasters say
You should never, ever serve 
Soul in a poem as the main entrée, 
With spirit and heart 
As side orders, all taboo 
For offal-eating fools dying 
To eat their words 
And have them too, a tad bit 
Too tasteless for the likes of me 
And you?


 

True North

So easy to be led 
Astray by aimless wandering— 
All the same, no lost soul ever 
Found himself by using a compass. 

In a Mean Time

So many things weighing on our mind, 
We don’t need to count them

To know they’re there, we have to 
Forget about them and remember

How light-headed we get when we don’t care.