Tuning Peg

I always see someone I think I know
But it turns into a different face.
Tell me –
Who did I see?
Did the face really turn
Casting uncertain quantum waves
Like a soggy blanket over my feelings
On a cold night, rain-swept and infinitesimal?

If I see you in so many faces,
Can’t you learn to see me too –
Anguished and searching all those eyes
For a semblance of someone I used to know?
Memory is not even a feeling
But a memory of a state of feeling,
An aborted daughter in the womb of childhood pain
Cut from limb to limb
But somehow still living.

Which face goes where?
Who places them like guitar strings
In their proper slot in a floating bridge?
O Floating World, over-full
Tune me tightly, like a lover
Until I snap from rage
Then turn again
And let your face be the one that I place there
Threading you through a bridge
Gently pulling you up and down
Smoothing out you’re trembling,
Wrapped in soggy night terrors,
Lost to the turning of eyes.


Sea-bald claymore,

Your name, called sea

Be protector



I, mere sailor

For bail, fear-eye,

Try endlessly

She, dressed in sky:



Jesting her path:

Math apart from

Sum-heart Sabbath,


She multiplies,

Plies ship hull scree –

Hell, she goes free.

She knows me well.


But stout hearts end,

Bend arts, out shut

Put faces, but

What essays trust?


Sea-bald claymore,

Your name, called she

Sea-edge Catherine

In tragedy.