A Cold Rain frm the Threshold Gaze I

 

A wet winter rain settles over the city
pre-December grey milfoil sheets of encroaching evening
thunder explodes like raucous summer cousins
rattles the tiny one-bed house
with the drywall holes and charcoal
fingerprints of five thousand long nights
with the shark jawbone
with the smell of sex
and grass
worn pattern prints on the old carpet
dance of the dark katana
rolodex of twirling tales
the rope's knots that were
that are
that will come
sacrifice to the goddess
(and to the neighbors)
this naked ember-lit iridescent human life
hot heat flash from above in heaven's black throat

to my cypress knees falls an imperfect figurine
to swear
to never shake a beetle
in a jar
again.

TA