Sunday, January 25, 2015

Secondhand Scent



I press your palm,
inhale a brand new head note.
Dry-down does not alter its mellow ego. 
It smokes grassy through skin,
overrides all previous compounds:  memories,
migraines, cheekbones, jawbones.

Bouquet lingers like the last days of summer.
I hone it, catch it in a Mason jar,
screw the lid on tight; save it for when
I need odorous bliss, an oracle
that calms all sorts of butterflies,
claustrophobia, and scars. 


tk/January 2015


Lovely evocative read by R.A.D. ...





Sunday, January 18, 2015

In the Beginning



I sleep two time zones,
wake in the small day between.
Darkness on the face.
No rest on the seventh.

The dustbin lid cracks down
on kitchen dreams.  Ashtray speaks
with gently-hammered elbows
and knees.

Only a blue-lit kettle
shines through the deep. 
Everything is transformed,
microwaveable.

I thank the god of oven mitts;
my fingers free to make
evening and morning,
and it is good.

At last we sleep
on the crumb-strewn floor. 
Evolved.  Immortal.
Creation under my nails.


tk/January 2015


Brilliantly delivered by R.A.D. Stainforth...





Sunday, January 11, 2015

Carry On



Another country's dampness tumbles to the floor;
towels in a heap; fleece holds the scent of you.

A kind of violence removing
fresh-crumpled museum passes, sea glass,

the stone saved from the road where the wood pigeon startled.
(Still pokes its head now and then from under my socks.)

A shame to store it undefined with other bags;
after it crossed the border, witnessed so much buzz.

I will keep it unzipped, ravenous for another;
your original score pocketed in the top.



tk/January 2015


Back to normal in R.A.D.'s black and white world...




Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Simplicity



If you look close enough
a garden becomes a meadow,
walls give way to windows.

A magpie watches from the edge,
jaws at anything complex.

It is time to throw out mismatched socks,
the king-size that never fit;
stuff the cache in yesterday's hamper,
unfence simplicity.

We find beauty in clothespins, hairpins,
a line swaying behind a dryerless nest.
The wet towel we share.



tk/January 2015


A rare glimpse of R.A.D. Stainforth in color...his most beautiful read to date...