Monday, July 6, 2009


i want to wash my swollen feet of tiny gravel
i want to brush graying tangles from my hair

the twigs that I bed down on, have not yet left the tree

but I need to leave the tree
and I don't usually ask, but this one time I'm gonna ask...

tuck me in tonight
make it better than okay
i was kidding about wild stuff every time.

does it always have to be so rambling, wild like and far?

far into night without a pillow?
far into night with breathless chase?

tuck me in tonight, light

with better than soft sheets
better than good rest
better than what I can do

and gentler


  1. The Gauge of a good poem is the size of the love-bruise it leaves
    on your neck,
    or the size of the love bruise it can paint
    on your brain or the size of the love bruise it can weave
    into your soul
    or indeed It could be
    all of the above



  2. I wonder if Hafiz could reincarnate for me.
    I would happily stand open handed and let him throw bruises my way. love ones - like he says.
    and poems of course.

  3. Wonderful ... your words are beautiful. i was out there, with twigs in my hair, wondering who was being chased, and feeling achy with swollen feet and whatnot. love it!


  4. Glad you came along JG...I hope your feet are feeling better. ;-)


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