Holy Saturday, Wisconsin and California

Courtesy of the Wisconsin Poet…

Snow Falls

On Wisconsin in cold, uneven textures –
Falls as if the mesh of gravity
Were to be sown into its recorded depth.

Midday brings a steady, if momentary,
Pulse to time’s white, insulated breath,
As if time too were merely falling

Instead of limned in linear horizons,
However softened by a cotillion of winter hills.
How many times the snow remarks

A world of windows and daylight
(Even grey, slated as the dawn that breaks
With our own ultimate leaving), and felled

Snow takes on the diffident proportions
Of shadow and light drawn in without lines,
Like a child’s art which has not yet

Learned to draw out a space’s middle,
A world between absolutes, where taut lines
Spell exact stanzas of color in black and white –

This, the way of snow that falls, fell,
Will ever fall, but felt as never coming back
And always and forever forecast for tomorrow.


San Diego Poem

Tonight, the bluish TV screen warps into wine’s dark purple –
Each hollow figure head, explosion, each kiss or gun
Stretches its restless bandwidth as through a glass vessel.

I lie. Nothing is going on outside. A dog barks
That nothing in the moon’s language, although his archeology
Has long since been laid to rest: in Pharaoh’s tomb,

Concubines lace their necks with canine teeth. The dog
Capitulates; loses his place among the stars. Good dog.
And California is grateful for the Great Bear: desire dips

Down and plays out along the sky’s palm-strewn edge,
And for no such idea, the tall slender trunks ball up
Their fists of palm. Sunday prays to draw near enough,

To blunt the week’s point: Saturday’s milieu of flight and fight,
Of kiss and gun, of dogs and kings, of death and light –
The blue, drank as purple, distils into the rest of our days.


  1. Cubeland Mystic says

    Very nice work gentlemen.

  2. Easter in Wisconsin II:

    I can’t feel me nose
    I can’t feel my toes
    My poor wife wears
    Five pairs of hose

    The dog lies frozen dead
    Brain frozen in its head
    The frozen earth groans
    Frozen to its bones

    My kids’ faces are turning black
    Another frost bite attack
    My daughter’s foot lost
    A little toe
    By genetic chance
    she’s got five mo’

  3. Ernst:

    Those ah toes you know they a come from (snort) living too close to thosethattar hightension wires. We got a problem with stray voltage out here, dontcha know.

    But nothin’ a couple two or three beers can’t fix, youbetcha. Uh huh.

    Cows, too. They get eefected by the volts, too. We give dem de beer too. Oh yah.

    Now if only we had that medical reefer likes you gots out there in Calyforny. Maybe the cows ‘ld like that too, I don’t know.


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