scorpio's prophecy

i hung up the phone to

a chest full of drawers:

letters, wishes,

drawings and bottles -

wine, musk,

and your peanut sauce

all labeled by year and vintage.

i know:

love is freedom,

love is pain,

love is your hand on my ass,

and my wishful thinking.

be.

and know that this too will pass.

and be again.

i sculpt lines under my eyes

to recall learnings

and to forget the losses -

only to wonder

when scorpio's moon

will be a good vintage.

zoo

belle and i went to the zoo.

as we were driving south,

i thought about that writer vegetarian

protesting the "tao of zoo."

i recall late 90's punk shows

lined with animal activists

(gory chicken pamphlets ring a bell?)

preaching passionately against

animal captivity and cruelty

and i wonder

why the gutter punks

never rallied against

the mass incarceration of kids,

you know, public school.

at least zoos try

to create habitat resembling "the wild"

and i ain't ever seen

a classroom

built in the trees.

have you?

act then talk

i can't tell 

you 

to do,

until 

i have tried 

it too

the more

weary

i be,

the more

i want

you 

to act 

fearlessly

act 

then

talk.

what i think

wearing a weeks worry 

cuffed in my blue jeans

i found refuge in the resurrection of yesterday's lover.

 

and who said lovers can't be friends?

i did.  but then time passed, and MISS matured into

WOMAN who saw beyond her wine soaked lips.

lust, if you're scribbling short stories, but introduce

soulfire named BELLE and my game withers, my dignity rises,

and i think i can, i think i can, 

until YOU and I are,

swinging in each others arms

shouting gospels until we cry wolf.

i love you.  i love the way your head sits on my shoulder

little girl, and ex-lover too.  the stress is gone,

buried beneath my winter sweaters.  still sweating from this purge.

a love letter

dear clear lake,

it was never my intention to grow attached to your cattails or whistle guthrie by your flaccid banks. but i have and i do.  i've fallen in your depths, sweet lady - seen belle delight at your holsteins, picked berries under your alders, and conversed patiently with your elders.  i love you and thank you for each kiss of dew across my cheek.  simple and true, my love.  

until tomorrow,

jh

a something

there's a something 

following me

through.

a thud,

bang, or rustle - 

i know its there

as i pick blackberries,

feed belle a bottle,

wash the breakfast bowls.

i hear it, feel it, 

over there,

below me-

like a puppy's nose 

against my ankle

not sure what or why

but i'll keep on 

and hope that it 

does too.

slaughter

walking up a country road

mirabelle and i encountered

cow slaughter.  

i couldn't protect 

her or i

from this reality,

so i spoke as if i knew

and asked her to tell me

everything.

she said,

"life is,

as death is,

and both are."

and we kept on

as if we were,

but i wasn't sure 

why.