Rise to Wake

Crisp and warm,
all in the earths bundle of a
Sunday morning.

Rises like these,
I remember waking to
church frills and curled hair.

Now as adult, I sit on gravel
country road
drinking in the suns bed head growl.

The geese sound their way
through open, clear sky.
I am pine, spruce and fresh air.
I am awake.

Blood Perfect


I’ll tell you cement when you want sand.
And those crooked lines, I’ll make straight

and line up that whole path to direct you to me.
You are from the shrillery but you are living in my arteries.


Free is what I find because it is what I have created for myself.
It is good. For both of us.

Downtown, along the street veins,
I could cell,

to heal your wounds.
And uptown, you’d be okay to create and find yourself.
It is good. For both of us.
And for a little while, you will.

And then, meeting center town

will blow our drawn mustaches off.