In the Land of the Blind - a ballad

Miss Mary and the Jack of Hearts
devised a simple plan
to trump the wily one-eyed King
into a waiting van.

Leaning on the Hard Luck Bar
Mary nursed her drink.
The sloppy drunks slumped in their chairs.
The joint began to stink

Diamond had a private itch.
He sought a private place
He needed anonymity,
an unfamiliar face.

She turned her body toward him,
her pose a work of art.
He didn’t need a menu
to order a la carte.

“I think we’ve got a perfect match”
the King he made his pass.
She rolled her eyes and snarled,
“Yeah, your face and my ass.”

Just the kind of spice he liked.
Miss Mary set the hook.
She slipped a roofie in his drink
then took a second look

at the hunger in his eyes
and the tremor in his hand
when Jack stepped in between them
to reel in the man.

Mary said, “Please join us.”
and offered Jack a place.
He didn’t give the game away,
nothing on his face.

The King was hip.  He made this pair
while Jack looked up to grin
Diamond switched the glasses.
The spike got passed to him.

Mary saw the game was up
as Jack dropped to the floor
Diamond said, “Don’t sweat it.
I’m coming back for more.”

You can take your chances
with this loser at your feet
or get in my Mercedes.
It’s parked out in the street.

Not a proud girl, Mary
knew what she had to do.
Walk with the King of Diamonds
or face the black and blue.

She gave herself up gracefully.
The King he claimed his prize
They couldn’t see the fury
that roared behind Jack’s eyes.

In a bleary haze he fired.
All three tricks went down.
A one-eyed Knave, a one-eyed King,
nobody wears the crown.

A kind of riddle / kind of a charm

Are we born blue
or simply

poured into the sky?

Are we worn through
or nearly

basted on the seam?

Do we ring true
or really
fashion to the lie?

Are we thrown into
war, merely
clotted in the cream?

Are we born blue
or simply
poured into the sky?

Visiting Madrone

Fogblind you might stumble
through a tangle of salal
to reach the patrimonial 

home of evergreen Madrone.
Her landed families took root
along the cliffs of Puget Sound.

To her guests she offers
the barely-edible alizarin berry
favored by the mourning dove.
You might eat it out of courtesy
as you pass the afternoon
in conversation with the evergreen Madrone.

Her attention elsewhere,
she is always dropping things:
tiny clustered, white bouquets,
leaves that clatter underfoot,
cinnamon-colored bark in strips
split and curled, her fresh skin exposed
pale-orange, an innocent immodesty.

As the mist recedes.
you see her leaves in viral hue, 

cankers obscure a pacific complexion,
confirming the rumors of decline.
Dame Madrone will not acknowledge your alarm,
but continues to discuss
the pleasures of the rooted life
until it’s time for you to go.

take a little piece of my heart it's got a good beat and you can dance to it

  

you hold my breath
in your hand
with a heart
beat dark as honey


we fall in two
and rise as one
both the water
each the wave


how will I stay warm
while I wait outside your door
fingerbone kindling


a couple of wrens
in the pulse of my throat
chirp in thirds


luck is the wing
of a bird on the wind


simple gifts
a bruised apple
still beating