Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea
Lava Meets Ocean. Lynx, Starboard Side. Day 2.Early Morning, July 8 2006, Looking for Flashes off Chain of Craters, Big Island

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Your tongue along the salt

Your tongue along the salt
your toe inside the fault
and everything between vibrations
mine at last—let not these moments
pass away I heard it said
I hear it now I lean on you
like a child against the bed's edge
eyes tight against the truth about angels

the mind I feel is too much with us
thinking and drifting out of sight
of land broken its truce with the shore
lost now on our own catamaran of love
too lost to hoist the sails against
the coming storm
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