Quadrille 97

Fill is to feeling
as Cossack is to Mars

Your gallop, flying over steppe,
riding into the air at escape velocity

To raid the stars,
the moon your scimitar –

braving the impossible sky,
an arc across cold space

From the heat of your horse –



Quadrille for dVerse

Quadrille 95

The Year slow-rolled to a stop,
at midnight the moon’s transmission
fell out with a clunk.

The poets were out of gas –
no roar in their coffee,
no boom-boom love in their pens.

The return of the sun and inspiration
a dreambillion lightyears
away.




Quadrille for dVerse

Quadrille 93

The hobnail feet of Winter
mash us into slush

as if to press iced wine
from our broken skins

a crush on spirits
of summer love

tasted, stripped
just off the vine

sleet’s sharp rhythm
in robes of immaculate white

dancing
on our graves



Quadrille for dVerse

Quadrille – Crack

The crack of dawn…
is like a big taco!

OK, a big breakfast taco –
scrambled egg clouds
stuffed in a flour tortilla.

The sun split your sleep
against the bowl
and whisked your dreams.

It’s quite a mouthful.
You’re going to need salsa.



Quadrille for dVerse

Quadrille – Voce

We play Voce like backyard Bocce –
rolling our tongues across verdure,
verbiage, herbiage, lawntastic poems
we’re having ball –
trying to avoid the gutter
or splitting infinities –
we’re Bowling for Dollars
(OK, maybe not)
but for a braggadocio moment
we win naming rights
in the Garden.


For dVerse Quadrille and friends.

Quadrille – Dragony

Dragony:

That firestorm
of nerves teething
when you need to shed
your alligator brain –

Because snakeskin
swallowed you whole.
Because, impossible to imagine,
you are both pig and python here.

That scaly lump in your throat
is you –
a stretch to get over
yourself.


For dVerse Quadrille and friends.

Quadrille – Uppity

Upstart whimsy
says shake it up,
wake it up –
shake loose from under
that downy blanket,
down so long don’t know
which way is up,
preposterous preposition
gets a heads up noogie
man up up up and away
the whole skyward gizmo
upended


For dVerse Quadrille

Delivery

The sun, great spectral
obstetrician – yes! –
doctor
of divinity – M.D., M.B.E., A.C.E.
delivering us to morning
in scrubs of light –
and us squalling our birthright
across the broken waters,
our faces squashed with
pillow marks,
anxiously counting our blessings,
our newborn fingers
and toes.


For dVerse Quadrille
And The Twiglets

The River Incult

the geese nervous
in the wolf grass,
their necks question marks
unanswered

fishhook rain worms
cast in the shape of query
spit out and drowned in pools
on the sidewalk

the river incult, incant, trolling its
inquisition questionable, a
what have you
mist, missed?


For dVerse Quadrille