John Clarke Altman

Today a woman passed me on the way to work. She had been watching me. Waiting for her opportune striking moment. She saw my blinker. She knew that I needed that lane, Which she held, Yet her car remained Closer than it appeared. I saw the vile grin sweep across her face. Her hands danced…

Raindrops rising And hairless chick-birds falling; Comparisons more beautiful And honoring To the light Which falls equationally straight On the veins of your hands As mine tingle. Desiring you. Our bodies, symmetrical And separately desired. My hands to yours, My eyes catching the waves escaping your eyes Legs to legs and embrace needing embrace. We…

The Winter conjunction of two lovers’ hands, The quiet movement of priority, And a folding of importance, Dreaming of losing but finding instead, unity. In an unknowingly familiar structure, She holds it. What it is I cannot imagine. A formless and struggling thing. The something I thought would come When I called for it with…

What if I’m not wrong about this grass, and it is the softest toes can feel? Wouldn’t that be something?   What if I’m not wrong and your eyes are the deepest and most compelling? Then I could fall unrelenting into truthful adoration.   What if we aren’t mistaken And the song that lifts our…