• in memoriam Johnny Baranski  

    Folsom prison blues— 
    every man guilty of some 
    kind of innocence                            

    a worm twists and turns  
    at the heart of a rose                      

    see? with the beads  
    of glass I can show you  
    your rainbow                                  

    revenants of yesteryear  
    in her sleight of hand                       

    now the mirror's empty  
    but for the stupid smile 
    of moonlight                                    

    a bolt-gun rings in the stockyard  
    poppies Hafiz, oh the poppies...      

    day after day   
    the quiet American   
    soldiers on                                        

    a chalk window on the wall   
    there's your escape                           

    the goldfish stares through me   
    two blue-bottle flies  
    gather dust in the corner                  

    a breath makes to softly leave  
    through a split infinitive                     

    in one movement   

    mother's approval proves  
    the relationship's final blow              

    dead sea scroll  
    a caterpillar  
    of its end                                           

    OMG! there's a dog  
    trying to get into her ear!                  

    and yet no one pays any mind 
    as the ground erodes  

    unheard of 'til now  
    footfall on water                                

    first snowdrops  
    a certain whiteness in   
    A Love Supreme                               

    refracted through my third eye 
    the moon scents whisper                  

    images strewn 
    across the underbelly  
    of experience                                   

    quietly dusk leaves  
    the fields wide open                           

    Clayton Beach, Hansha Teki, and Johannes S. H. Bjerg 

  • moon glimpses— 
    death seems not so far 
    out of reach 

    dust blows around me 
    an ancient sea bed 

    the mogul
    is hitting
    rock bottom

    traceries of a mosque 
    in the parhelion

    Hansha Teki / Clayton Beach

  • autumn sunset
    before the siren
    the flash of lights

    deeper into night
    a bedside vigil

    leg twitches
    the ragged snores
    of an old hound

    a breath of wind escapes
    the sanctuary of light

    Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki

  • anhedonia in blossom—
    the warmth of the sun
    only skin deep  

    an iceberg lies submerged  
    somewhere yet-to-be-seen   

    while her secrets   
    rest quietly  
    others fester  

    sap oozes from scars  
    long left by carved hearts  

    counting the rings 
    on a transneptunian 

    the still point 
    between pleasure and pain 
    becomes a gem  

    glistening on petals 
    as the surf subsides

    a sudden storm
    in a butterfly dream
    of chaos

    i return to the center
    and awaken as myself 

    the snake's tail
    circles out of
    its mouth
    Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki
  • a sparrow alights  
    on the wind blown wire  
    natural harmonics  

    another day teased out  
    to a single note  

    beluga clouds  
    the icy moon sets  
    into the sea   

    a hermit crab scuttles  
    its crumbling shell   

    discarded plastic  
    in the postmortem   
    of a forgotten evening  

    an old salt  
    spins a yarn or two  
    into open wounds  

    and what of the plowshares?  
    we'll learn to love 'the bomb'   

    sickle moon  
    a spy dome deflates  
    at Waihopai  

    a thousand times reflected 
    in the eyes of a fly  

    in alpine snow  
    only the radar ping  
    of a blackbird  

    Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki

  • golden midges
    circle in and out
    of existence

    around the moon
    a halo widens

    mackerel skin
    patterns in the wet sand
    become strato cirrus

    the familiar becomes
    the imprint of dreams

    Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki

  • a tulip waits  
    in the silence
    before daylight   

    a river's roar rises 
    from the heart of darkness  

    the yellowed keys  
    of a vintage steinway  
    gather dust   

    songs of yesteryear 
    seep through cracked windows 

    a sparrow feather 
    stays aloft 
    in the summer sun  

    barely a breath  
    the stillness  
    of a deer  

    child lying slain  
    by a father's gun  

    the echo  
    of an ancient tale 
    now so real  

    from the belly of leviathan  
    he slouches toward ninevah   

    sunset fire  
    its hour comes round  
    in the end   

    Clayton Beach 
    Hansha Teki