Mitza's Hands

                                                     Drawing of Mitza's hands by J. Heineman

Look at the hands 

of the dying

to see the truth

about our dive

through the wave of time.

Look at the hands

of the dying

to break the shell

of your heart open

and feel beauty flow.

With a blindfold over her eyes

she begins to see everything.

With a cloth in her mouth

she speaks with the infinite. 

.

Infant With Late Friday Afternoon Rush Hour on Dodge Street

Will we remember walking 

the long halls of night singing 

sweet songs and songs and songs

The mountains are moving

through a veil of snow

The vasty ocean sleeps

while its waves madly roll

The green’s pushing up

from the winter’s hole

as our eyes burn 

and our hearts weep

O our hearts burned 

and our eyes wept

or will the explosion 

of light called day 

dismantle our reductive 

sculptures of time?

And then the giant moon

shining orb from the black bottomed

lake of space surface breaking 

with breath and breath

as the line of seasons speeding

ever faster, weaving in and out

in our heat machines

only to always lose

to lose everything.

.

The Wilde Infant

                                                                                       Drawing by J. Heineman

She drinks all night

at the titty bar

screaming for shot

after shot of the sauce 

then growling like a pirate

only to throw up 

and shit her pants

when it’s time 

to go to bed.

Come noon 

she’s out cold

looking for all the world

like innocence itself

and just when you’re ready

to build her an alter

she throws a sucker punch

and shoots a golden

string of pee 

straight in your eye.

The Wilde Infant

has dreams 

of things unnamed

the rhythms of waves

running red in the rivers

and a velvety darkness 

far deeper than the clocks

which have chimed away

all of our light-filled lives.

.