on her fan
the sun is up-
still the poems
I wrote on her skin
|This is my second collaboration with Jade. She's always such a joy to work with.|
Sand and SaltSand and SaltSand and Salt by Mahi-Fish
The ocean stole grains of sand from us
pulled unnoticed one granule at a time,
(wrapped as we were in whispers)
and replaced each with salt
filling the depressions left-
no longer footprints
but lakes and seas of
sloshy saltwater foam
our whorls at their depths
impressions containing us within them
eddies crashing over ridges
drawn by the gravity between us.
As the tempest subsides
cyclones spun from sighs
shut their eyes and
deposit quartzen silt
along the bed.
October BonfireThe bonfire didn't stop your shivering.October Bonfire by Mahi-Fish
You sat, knees drawn, lip quivering;
a vortex of smoke swirled skyward.
Primal paths jettisoned ash
in an ethereal fae dance,
and alighted in your hair
as ephemeral grey snowflakes.
Drawn to you as I was.
Heat radiated outwards and upwards
gifted by the sand's last memory of sun,
and my first of you
seared into me
deeply as the firebrands imprinted
on our retinas in brilliant red
after furtive glances across the coals.
You buried your feet in the sand
toed curled and clutching
probing deeper, colder
wicking off the heat building inside you.
Your lips pursed; our eyes met,
and I realized you shivered not from cold,
Staticthe wooden floors don't creakStatic by Mahi-Fish
the vents don't rattle or thrum
empty pipes run between the walls
a fly perches on the windowsill
unsure how to proceed while
the bamboo plant stretches and wilts
dust settles on the television
its hissing eye of sign-off static
reflects the unblinking stare
of a small dog asleep on the couch
rows of shoes frame the door
laces tied and tucked
a swallow of coffee sits cold
a rice pot glazes with starch film
by the recliner a new copy
of an old book waits
light from a bulb flickers once
twice and is no more
It's like you jumped into a wading pool - you know, the kind that parents would blow up with
Oh wait. My family are rednecks, we blow up pools differently down here.
conversation with Jade-Pandora
how perfect you are before
-Dick Whyte of SOLARTS
T. Scott Fisher was quite the poet
And made sure all the world would know it
but he commented too often,
his hands fell off from exhaustion,
and he could no longer press submit.
There once was a fish from Texas
that of watchers had built a nexus
but it troubled him so
he had to let some of us go
now he fears this decision may vex us
shall I call the monastery?
Oh my. I think that if you do, it would break my last vow of chastity.
Then what kind of monk would I be?
a monk fish!