112814

wiser
but on the other hand
modish
running for cans in rows
you might say

conchs disturb
divisions within me
boring statements of
a whim to
skydive,
ridiculous – yet
that void persists

as does the one
named
summiting Kilamanjaro
and the other

the one of lost
connection
frozen in fading Polaroids

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

112514

neutrino
passes
through
always

forward from
one star
system
to

another

one particular
domino
starting a wave

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

112414

there is precious little
like hours on a shovel
for verification of
dire existence

taking up residence
in your overtaxed heart
the feeling
you may never
dig through

to the road
to your escape
to the buried mailbox

where
seed catalogs,
waiting to be retrieved,
will taunt you
for the next
six months

but now
nearly midnight
silence

save the creaking
of porch supports,
the rattle
in your chest

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

111614

still closing eyes
in places
of gathering

isolating
voices
in crowded
spaces

how many
at this point
does not matter

it has yet
to find me

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

111214

your glass of
Liebfraumilch shakes
a Djembe speaks
from somewhere
on the beach and
on you
every eye

waiting for you
to cut through ice
of withering unknowing
and, for clarity, to
expound on that which
has left you
worrisome
and clenched in
this hour

wincing
for all who are
united with
the cloaked and
the fiendish,

said to be found
gathering
among the rocks

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

111014

the arc of the argument
being – when is one
driven to plunder in
a different infinity?

carrying a belief that
getting to the truth involves trespass, only to be
chilled into silence
when asked

how much
consciousnesses
has fallen to such predation?

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

110214

Sunday cold
first flakes last night
Dostoevsky heavier
by a pound than the
cat on my legs

waiting for the morning
to evolve
or pass

still learning that rest
is not a sentence imposed

for this is why
sleep dreams
elude me
– not enough time
to allow them
to kick in

Alyosha in his cell
I in mine
restless both

let’s see if the next
paragraph puts me under
the cat is
already out

a slow rise and fall
of her rib cage
a rotation
of an ear

toward the nearly
silent
turn of a page

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

103114

grown, I
down on gridiron,
a stance taken against attack
amygdala fires,
– a response
cries soar
above the clamor

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead