2-27 The Cow Cries Alleluia

midwife and maid,
barman and bee,
deliver the cow,
who came
to pray for me,
alleluia, alleluia,
barman and bee,
midwife and maid,
deliver the cow,
who comes,
to pray for me.

with ovaries and tease,
pious and please,
pregnant and bleating,
journeys full pleading,
house husband,
house husband,
midwife and maid,
why do you pray,
with ovaries and tease,
to deliver the cow
who came to say

moo.

with cilantro and sense,
twice and a price,
barman and bee,
midwife and maid,
she has been paid,
twice and a price,
barman and bee,
midwife and maid,
alleluia, alleluia,
midwife and maid,
barman and bee,
with cilantro and sense
you pray for the cow,
who comes to deliver me?

on pitcher and plate,
beer and brie,
barman and bee,
suckle the sweet,
deliver the flow,
alleluia, alleluia
open palms know,
barman and bee,
on pitcher and plate
the cow comes,
to pray on me.

with alleluia, alleluia,
the cow moo's
midwife and maid,
barman and bee
the cow moo's
alleluia, alleluia,
barman and bee,
midwife and maid,
the cow moo's
alleluia, I pray-
with thee.

2-26 Mr. Bumblebee Orders A Glass Of Kitten

tequila simmers,
in your hand,
held, a kitten,
purring,
turquoise eyes,
lost, lamenting,
the dust of a lap,
you curled on,
once,
but, now,
she is,
late night,
comfortable, yawning,
in the after,
chorused lamp light,
a southern curiosity,
of a gentle, shot-glass,
careful ,
rocking, white,
furball beneath,
the river,
of your breath

2-25 I'm Human (Today)

compassion
dangles from my lips,
like a used cigarette butt,
wet in the eggs shells of my
frown turned sunny side up,
from the rotting smell of
breakfast disinfecting,
deodorant streaked paper towels,
mushing the alveoli chorus of
my lung.

2-24 The Bear Wakes and Leaves

this is the house of September,
silence the drums
of the sparrow,
come,
gather the shadows,
the dried roses, burn
and scatter the embers,
the cobwebs, the spiders,
the fools and their spinning wheels,
dim the lanterns,
the sky grows
dark,
with him, above,
the bear, and his thousand
droplets of rain, dripping,
white,
he is awake,

"he is blind,
send him away,
send him away,"
squeaks the mouse
with the fury of the east wind,
from the nightmare of my clutched hand

"quiet.",  I whisper,

squeezing his life,
back to where it came,
undone, and done,
he is, awake,
come, gather, and watch,
all of us, musicians at the fire,
the sky above, turns,
inward,
look down at us,
him, the awake,
with his one raging eye,
rips winter from our breasts,
swallowing, snow, ice, murder,
in his heart, his one silent fathomed rage,
swallowing his own,
eye, looking down at us,
heartbeat,

we do not move, we do not speak,
this is his time, the hunger, claws,
at his hollows to get out, to get out,
he growls, soft  and low into the grass,
the field of sky turns,
he leaves an anger of bristles,
the field of sky turns,
turns, turns,
towards the east,
dawn fades into bloom,
he is undone, gone,

come,
pick up the drums of the sparrow,
begin again,
come,
this is the
house of September.

2-23 Black Needle, Gold Thread

I close my eyes,

five fingers blind, 

black with needle, 

gold with thread,

I sew the living,

wake the dead,

black with needle,

gold with thread,

I close my eyes,

five fingers blind,

sew the living,

wake the dead.

one to his heart, 

which he cannot feel,

black is the needle,

on his spinning wheel,

numb is the man,

with his own two hands,

who stabs with a knife,

one to his heart,

but he cannot feel,

when black is the needle,

from his spinning wheel.

two to his eyes,

for the twin empty hollows,

black is the needle,

which weeps with his sorrows,

blind is the man

with his own two hands,

who threads his lids shut,

with two to his eyes,

for the twin empty hollows,

when black is the needle,

which wept with his sorrows.

three to his right hand,

pinned to the cross,

black is the needle,

which holds on to his loss,

blind is the man

with his own two hands,

who attacks out of faith,

with three to his right hand,

pinned to the cross,

when black is the needle,

which holds on to his loss

four to his shoulders

bent over and broke,

black is the needle,

which puppets his stroke,

blind is the man

with his own two hands,

who pulls on his threads

with four to his shoulders

bent over and broke,

when black is the needle

which puppets his stroke

five is to her,

the mother and girl,

gold is her thread,

which tightens her curls

blind is the man,

with his own two hands,

who straightens the weave,

when five is to her

the mother and girl

when gold is her thread

which tightens her curls

I close my eyes,

five fingers blind, 

black with needle, 

gold with thread,

I sew the living,

wake the dead,

black with needle,

gold with thread,

I open my eyes,

five fingers blind,

sew the living,

wake the dead.

2-22/B Little Fur Bro

little fur bro,
so chill by the fire,
why do you have to go?
little fur bro?

you speak of places you've been,
as if they were coffee in your mug,
you speak of places you've been,
as if you'd return to being been again,
maybe,

tonight, though,
there is the fire, and smoke,
beer and boys, but not the kind
of boys you're thinking about,
boys who have been about,
boys who have seen more
than the fire, and smoke,
in the night, unfurl
within your hands,
fire, smoke, earth,
tonight,

like home,
home, you carry with you,
within your hands, unfurling,

why do you have to go,
 little fur bro,
so chill by the fire,
why do you have to go?

you remind us,
the boys who have been about,
of home, unfurled in your hands,

-home.

2-22 Letter To The Man Upstairs

maybe,
I'll start with the end,
I don't know if you will read this,
maybe,
I should start with
the beginning, except,
I've already been there,
and what's the point,
this is the house of September,
this is how he breathes,

when he walks up the stairs,
we don't look back,

but if you have to ask,
there is a truth in the rumor,
I kinda miss you too,
there is a quiet here,
settling into the walls, while he sleeps,
a quiet I don't want to get used too,
it's uncomfortable,
in his quiet, but before I forget,
the potato says hello,
she reminds me everyday,

to watch from my window,
the sun going down, the sun going down,
the sun going down,  then she hides under
the bed, while the piano plays,
she hides under the bed, except to crawl
in with me, where she curls into my stomach,
keeps my warm, she is love, sweet, unpredictable
love, and she reminds me, everyday,

to watch the sun going down,
from my window, in the house
of September, where I walk up,
the stairs,
and don't look back.

so that's how it ends,
does it need more?
every letter needs filler,

I put the dishes away, took out the recycling,
brought the vacuum out for later, the potato is
going through a shed cycle, so, you know
how it is, parenting, but I washed her blankets,
bought a new toy, which lasted, oh, about two minutes,
but it was nice to see her bouncing around,
though in the wild, they would call that
playing with her food, it disturbs me as
much as watching chickens eat, vicious
little dinosaurs, where is this going?

is this enough filler?
should I write a beginning now?

I don't think so,
the house of September,
is quiet without you,
but that is an ending,
not a beginning, and I

have already walked up
the stairs, to watch the sun
go down,
from my window,
and not look back,

this is how he breathes.
love,

T.