To A Moth In Mexico

To A Moth In Mexico

The party dwindled, trickled, and last to leave
I walked to the top of a hillside gazebo alone.
Crickets, and the lower half of a moon aglow.

Waves crested down below, spilling on rocks
that heard them before the first ear on a head.
And a moth thought to fling itself on lamplight.

I watched it circle and flit. Drawn to anything
other than the night, I suppose. I wondered:
Is it the first time you have done this, Moth?

Do you find it disappointing that this Being...
this last resort of hope or promise of reward
proves in the end to be nothing more than
darkness illuminated? First night in the world?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Algorithms

Algorithms

I recall telling you the worst thing about me
feeling shriven when you never flinched
outwardly.

Such a difference between being shaken
and shook. You were the former, knowing
I would never do the latter.

Not to you.
Certain things we hear. Others, we hearken.
Love reaching a sum, via

algorithms.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Do not lie to me.
You stared at the sign as long as I did.
We both turned the wheel into the parking lot.
Stranded otherwise, right? No others in sight?
VACANCY sign alight in red, and that was all that mattered.

Honestly, I was shocked to find a cat when I rang the office bell.
Jumped right onto the counter it did, and asked my name.
Even wanted our licence plate number.
And I retrieved the key to our room from a claw.
Do you recall our equal consternation when we got in there?

When we read the notice on the inside of the door?
Our young maids do not desire a tip. If you would tickle them a bit
about the mid-section as they roll around in the morning --
This will be enough. This will be plenty.
This will be more than adequate.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Magazine

Magazine
 
In the world of homonyms I challenge you to find one grander than magazine.
Put that one down, and listen to me.
This guy has shot a bunch of people tonight and is out of bullets.
What does he do now? Reloads his magazine.

I have never felt softer feet than yours, just now tonight, on this couch.
There is something about the way you lay back and know it is going to happen.
You think it's relaxing. I think it's hot.
We click on CNN. Jesus Christ -- this guy should have been massaging someone.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Linked

Linked

I wonder if the word fused is linked to the word confused.
There was never a snowfall like that one, that December.
So we wore the shoes, the snowshoes.
We wanted to have a Canadian experience.

Leaving the warmth of a fully functioning vehicle. Warm.
Launching out into the who-knows-what.
Strapping on those tennis rackets, I looked at your 
unflinching face. Nothing but adventure there.

Miles silently above the drifts, we trod, flakes falling.
Were I to ask the question, I know what you would answer.
Did you ever see anything as wonderful as that lynx?
Neither have I. I have not.

But we do not speak to each other anymore.
And I cannot help but wonder on this empty empty night
if the word link is linked to the word lynx. Does
saving such a memory ruin all that might yet be -- savory?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Island of Reason

Island of Reason

There is this line between profligatry, sheer abandon,
wantonness, stupidity, clumsiness -- and reason.
There are as many excuses for skirts as there are men
wanting them shorter. One shouts out, Give me a woman
and I will take another.

That night I watched you dance it all to hell and beyond
with the pilgrim soul in you, intact. You had an anchor.
Every freckle of you calling me to that Island of Reason.
The place where foolishness hits a reef -- crosses the line.
Planting its flag.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Serendipity

Serendipity

When I first came across the word serendipity
in a novel, I started looking for it. Non sequitur.
One of those things you can't find, by looking.
But, last day of Farmer's Market, stiff with cold
I wandered the stalls, reaching for a basket.
Dusty blueberries.
What potent of Fate made you reach
as I did, for that very collection?

There is no answer to that question.
But others, other questions, do have answers.
What would a blueberry, bitten 'mid your lips
taste like, saliva-mingled?
I know the answer to that. I know now that the Earth
from a distance is still as blue, no matter the clouds.
You broke through everything in my atmosphere
that night, when we added the whipped cream.

 Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Stranded

Stranded

All this talk about cart-before-the-horse.
Everyone knows the phrase, and uses it.
All but the animal itself.
No one asks if he ever had better ideas.
Done properly or not, he ends up in front of it
every time.

It's true, I got to know your body long before
I knew much about your soul.
But welcome to modern times. In this world
we forget about oil changes. Driving.
Texting while we do it. No thought to the engine
-- until stranded at the roadside.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Designated Day

Designated Day

The furthest thing from my mind a year ago, [no, last month] -- was any thought associated with the idea that we would have to coordinate a time for my presence when you were absent. But such is the business of cohabitation, and its demise.
Resorting to others to manipulate that very window of untogetherness, I arrived to retrieve my stuff. Our [your?] cat greeted me, rubbing against my leg. 
Force of habit, I locked the door behind me, and knelt. Usually, his treats were in order -- so I went to the cupboard, where I found your note:
"Just get your things. And go."
In italics. No x's or o's behind it.
Slipping the key under the door when I was done, my eyes were closed.
And everything -- the hallway, my clothes, the suitcase you left open for me to put them in, the inside of my car, the clouds in the sky -- smelling like you.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Surfacing Book Club

The Surfacing Book Club

We read a lot. Past tense and present.
First person and third. Fiction and non.
-- Sounds crazy but it esn't.
We do seasonal things, for instance on

Hallowe'en, a scary book. Christmas,
some children's lit. Over 500 in the tank.
You may ask, Can I join it? Is this
an option? No. [Two members to thank]

Some things are better left to a minimum.
We have more than enough discussion
between us. Kindred spirits. -- Umm…
No agenda. Quite a repertoire. No rushin'.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Halloween

Halloween

My memories of Halloween are of small-town nights.
Fear was entirely invented. It was only about candy.
The only chaperone was a distant dog barking --
 -- and you knew whose dog it was.

Time, inexorable as it is, sometimes changes things.
In this case, I think it sad to picture a parent curbside.
Foot-tapping while "Trick or Treat" is cried.
Have we evolved to this?

My God, we used to run from house to house, unfettered.
More abandon than any actual ghost could have mustered.
Midnight we'd gobble our treasures, frothy-mouthed. 
Laughing quietly, to not wake the sleeping down below.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Whales Were Talking

Whales Were Talking

Who knows where dreams come from?
During last night's feature film, offstage me
was clutching a pillow -- probably sweating.
Eyes darting under the lids. Even in sleep,
trying to understand something.

Onstage, two gargantuan beasts floated.
The grace, like two candle flames in a world
where fire cannot live, swam.
I heard every strange oscillation, last night.
Only later, waking, did I interpret the message:

We expend our entire lives in an attempt
to stay as far away as possible -- [pause]
from anything that is in need of -- [twirl…]
a geographically determined alphabet --
-- [dive] to communicate, one with another.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Lonely, and Loneliness

Lonely, and Loneliness

Here is the distinction I make:
No - but first, some preamble:

There was this guy who did not have a lot of friends,
and no physical lover. Family is close, but far away.
He reads a lot, feeds a cat. Sometimes [and usually
it's a Sunday] - he wonders how far he is from talking
aloud, on the street. Not yet swallowing after-shave,
but thinking about the money he could save if he did.

There's another guy who travels a lot. Time away from
his wife and kid bothers him. Next year he will merit
an extra week of vacation, and will not need to apply
his own sun-tan lotion to his back. He misses her, but
his flight is at three. And he's bought a gift for his son.
Damn these extended conferences. Thank "G" 4 Skype!

Lonely.
And loneliness.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Surfacing

Surfacing

What was surfacing was as salt-laden as our horizon.
Briny vomit, announcing itself, just as she
[a greater find than Columbus ever managed]
was doing the same.

If I lean a bit, if I tilt with the ship's next wave-fall, 
I can do this. She turned toward me, as everything
but my actual pancreas hit the waves below --
-- frothy-mouthed.

There was something brazen about her acceptance
of such a spectacle. She merely looked into my eyes.
I felt the same about the scallops this evening. Not right at all.
My entrails, sea-washed against the hull -- agreed.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Centurion

The Centurion

I had never seen a sky darken so suddenly.
None of us had. Bits of lightning, but no thunder.
In the daytime, no less. Darkness.
It was the sound of the nails that drove us there.

We circled a sight I cannot describe without shuddering
even now, years later. Amid that tumult and horror
I heard things that were, in my lifetime, unrecorded.
Behind the crosses at the time, I cannot tell which of the three spoke.

But I heard the words clearly.
Someone said, Remember me, when you come into your kingdom.
I felt shame at such blasphemy.
Until a voice in between, re-assured him, that he would.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Cheating

Cheating

Some girls have that prescience, combined with mercy.
This one looked over at Geoffrey's horror as he flipped the sheet
-- slumped in despair. Half an hour passed. He ate half a pencil.

Maybe if I kick my desk leg three times he will look over.
Lifting her own paper enough for him to see her own words
-- his complicit smile made her feel she was in a hot-air balloon.

There was joy in watching him furiously write before the bell rang.
Her sheet in the basket, on top of his. No words spoken.
Three days later, as lockers clanged shut, she approached him --

-- How did you do on the final?
He reddened, looking down at his sneakers. I got a B+.
Walking her home, he added, Would've been an A, if you were ugly.

Tonight, as he watched her with their own daughter's homework
he saw the same glint of concern in her eyes. Without the cheating.
And he kicked the table leg three times, as her smile melted him.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

This Is The Answer

This Is The Answer

I dreamed minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
A river below was a thread. Mountains in the distance.
Blue, and a few cows. Specks. Why would cows be there?
No pasture anywhere. Yet, cows -- as they graze.

I dreamed minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
Shoreline, a girl was walking. Looked up to where i was.
Surf, and a few seagulls. Why did she look up just then?
No reason to do so. Yet, she turned her gaze.

I dreamed, minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
Same night, all of this. Same promontory.
Pterodactyls cackled now. What were they in search of?
I could not answer that question. They floated away.

I dreamed, minutes ago, it seems. The edge of a cliff.
Rocks shimmied under my feet. I am falling at this point
and half way down I pass by God who is blurting as if mad
Fool! The true dream is the second one. Wake to it, today!

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Salt

Salt
 
I survive without sugar, but cannot live without --

My dolphin...
when you are less than sweet with me
I imagine an ocean of Coca-Cola.
Uninhabitable.

It is proven. Iron will rust in it.
Blue, or even dark green, is always better than brown.
Carbon dioxide pushing everything to the surface?
Strangers popping the tab?

I am able to hear everything you are saying.
Imagine what everyone else has to drink.
At your meanest. Your saddest. I envy no one.
Because I alone, kiss those eyelids, teeming with

-- salt.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Semantics of Art

The Semantics of Art

When it comes to opposites, I think concrete is neat-o.
The antonym is abstract.
At a certain level we understand it.
Concrete is solid. Both in the abstract sense and the literal.
Wood, paint, steel, or cement.
Conversely, [and rightly so] abstract is basically what not, is.
Yet, you could make an abstract structure, using concrete.
Could you make a concrete structure, using abstract?
Not really.
You will be too busy looking for a solid medium.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

No Inscription

No Inscription

Off the coast of Normandy I descended with other divers
to examine the HMS Swift, sixty-nine years sunken.
Mission was dog tags and a settling of a family's concern.
We found what was needed after three days of work.
-- A task the wealthy have the means to pay for.

On that day we finally breached the kitchen area.
Youthful men once gobbled grub and pondered death
in the adjoined mess. There I reached for a ring.
Once on the finger of a soldier, now in my satchel.
An inscription later revealed the grateful recipient.

Last night as I searched for a pair of fresh socks I
mistakenly opened your drawer. Under panties I found
a wedding ring I know I never gave you. No inscription.
I sank it back in, choosing in that submerged moment
to not question a mystery I would rather not know about.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Crooked Cross

Crooked Cross

Remember how we used to criticize the cross of St. Bridgit's?
Blame Christianity in general for its shoddiness? Its slant?
We sat in the park and laughed.

There was a squirrel scrambling up a tree.
Entranced, we watched it circle the trunk, and jump to a wire.
Tippetty tippetty, all across a power line.

Missing a beat, it fell to the ground with a bit of a splat.
I love that you did not laugh. Nor did I.
Neither of us breathed, until it regained itself… and bounded on.

I note that neither you or I have ever laughed at that crooked cross
since that time. Nor have we talked about it. You sip your tea
and I sip my coffee, in the park.  We seem to silently agree --

Not everything is perfect. Not anywhere.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Anarchy

Anarchy

Lawlessness. Nihilism. Revolution. Insurrection.
Disorder, Chaos / Mayhem. It's one thing to apply oneself
to political upheaval.
But what about life itself?

A tattoo on your tit that says, I will not bend.
What happens when what is, twists it for you?
There's a thing about being on the outside that doesn't translate.
It will only hurt until you let go --

-- and realize you are alone.
There is no one that really cares. Except you, about you.
Bailouts may apply to financial institutions.
But text everyone you "know" right now.

No one cares about your troubles.
No one will commit to your anarchy.
Shut it on down.
You are going to get through this on your own.

Or not at all.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Leaves

Leaves

The eyes of trees.
Interesting how they have veins.
Instead of blood, they carry water / light.
Spring and summer, they drink of each.

But conditions require change.
Conditions require change.
A season comes when cold moves in.
Roots shiver.

Trust evolution, if nothing else.
Don't let external circumstances tell you
when it is time to fall to the ground.
There is a reason we have invented shelter.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Fighting With You

Fighting With You

Everyone loves a storm.
No forecast can predict what it will do.
We are enticed in that moment.
Oh, the damage. We run outside to take it in.

Something about fury we cannot control
intrigues us. Especially as it inflicts others.
We re-assess our own insurance coverage
but other than that -- God help them!
 
When I know I have displeased you
there is not even time to gather lawn chairs.
Those eyes squint. There is no turning the channel.
In light of the above, forgive my fascination --

Because even then, I only love you.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

We Are

We Are

It was the craziest pact ever. So romantic.
In grade school, an English teacher taught the true meaning of the word.
At least in the literary sense.
The way things ought to be, not the way they are.

Meet me here one year from today, I said.
There was laughter in tears. A nod from you.
Kisses on your eyelids, salt on my tongue.
Fog wrapping you up as you walked away.

But I have never truly wandered far from this tree.
And tonight, three hundred and sixty-five sunsets later
Here…

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --