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untitled winter poems

So mucho scrunch-faces olde before their time
I’m still nibbling at chickweed
but singing the song of Mugwort
Oh Artemisia, riding in on a strange fingered fog
wispy, delicate bells of moonlight
the water at night.

Nevermind the lightning, its not meant for you
Fill your eyes and mouth with smoked fish and fresh fruit
The space between your toes with sand
and soft furry plants
running clean
bubbling low
trickle stream
and in that nude minute
the owl comes in


We are flying over the dead sea
ancient salt monoliths packed and hardened
me in my fuckle barrette, shirtless in my little aura forest
This land beyond the mists
was built on top of the remains of gold rush ships
The guardians of the gateway smile at me
like little aliens puffing their pipes beyond the porthole
I notice lots of things about
small details in the apartment
sitting up in bed
the room next door afro-harping contentedly.


Why did you come home with me
little stone?
You look like a planet, shimmering stranger

We pull up in the desert
deep blue sky – expansive, with very green cactuses
rolling out of the road
some old car playing something sincere

Want to go to Tucsan, babydoll?
We can soak in the sacred spring of circumstance
look at rocks all day
go through the gateway

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