Spring Whistle

It is in the cold moments I write. Kindle for a creaking furnace, which be my heart. To Barbara, my keeper and great-great-mother. She tricked me into thinking she got her scalp scratched open by the cat at 6 am. It took me a minute to realize it was ketchup. Here’s the poem:


I open rusted windows, with the metal mesh and frame bent from removals and mistakes, and feel the cool spring breeze hit me. The fetal winds of warmth wandering the withering veins of a dead winter, it has lost its bitter resolve in the face of change. The striking touch and licks of cool warmth wash my wounds with a wondrous swirl and I feel healing.

I feel healing.

The moments of whispers, of sweet subtle melodies screamed through deep mental passages to be echoed in thought and felt by brush and seen through effect. The first touch the world was given. Touch. Not burn, or slow erosion of the surface be, but the entwined forces of convection be-gin a dance. The notes of storms, the slashes of cold, and the reminders of relief in heat. Let my flesh catch your symbols, let your wisdom flow through me so I can remember. Remember the healing of the spring air telling me to see past my woes. Sorrow be but a traveling foul carried by your sweet songs, it learns them soft, it mimics your tongue. Though a cover it be, taking tune and forging false memory. Mark me hard, let thought not betray, pleasure.


Of this soft spring day.

Spring Whistle


He walked with an uncomfortable stiffness

His limbs fused by the mistakes of the past,

Yet pride emanates from his words

And his scars are draped in fine silk.

His eyes are dry, red, and quick

His wit is as irritated.


May his legs be broken

And weakness and love reset his growth

And the dried lard casting his soul shatter

And Age go proper

Crawling in agony through the proper channels

And subtle strength restored.


Weep, child, weep

For thou hast been reborn


Just chills


As a child I found

The hidden pleasures

Of a cold pressure against my pain

Pain wrought from the times of unwanted growth

Metal so sweet to the touch

Plaster cooled by a night wind

As blurry lights twinkled in my strained eyes

Cursed by a nearsightedness

The just feeling, the earned relief

I took to the wall learned of the ways

The sweat gained in the dead of night

My body burning and my fear tight

I gained my ground with my thighs

In the air as I pressed my body to prepare

The hidden fears

Which flail at first light

As a child I found could be

A fight

No just chills exist today

It is a wonder that takes the pain away

Just chills