Kenneth Gurney

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Biography
Kenneth P. Gurney lives in Albuquerque, NM, USA with his beloved Dianne.  He emcees the Adobe Walls open mic at Page One Books and is the founding editor of the Adobe Wallsanthology of NM poets.  His latest collection of poems is Curvature of a Fluid Spine.  To learn more visit  

Published: 01/23/14

Opening

A dark palate
a blue too close to black
a storm sky
or day too close to night.

A chill tension
a jack rabbit obstructed
by dry sage, by the red 
of a distant blackbird’s wing.

Framed by the canvas edge
a canine foot exits left
with a kick of sand 
through the foreground.

Blur, so rare in paintings,
swirls all the renegade grasses
the faded flower petals
shuttled by wind.

The gaggle of patrons congregate
near the reds and whites of a gallery--
sandpaper wine scrapes windpipes,
crackers and government cheese.

Tongues pop corkscrew opinions
finger-flick critiques to social media
resonant electrons
sludge through thick oily landscapes.

A Sharp Projection

First light
casts long leaf shadows
against drawn curtains,
the last remnant of sleep.

The bookcase
silences the echo
of half a million dead men
and all their indiscretions.

A film that is not film,
but pixels, zeros and ones,
remains lost to the naked eye
under the downed grid.

Sweet tea aroma:
the lingering vapors wisp,
dissipate above the browned surface
on their ghostlike rise.

Newspaper bylines bloom
like morning glories,
like the bird-dust 
that blots my window’s view.

Frypan and spatula clattering 
jostles the spine to allay 
hunger, the time clock’s 
punching tick.

Echoes

When he arrives,
insist that Death says,
You are the ocean spray.
You are the tidal sounds.
You are the savage surf.

When Death opens the door
for you to walk through
from this world to the next,
hesitate on the threshold,
but do not look back.
Take a circus breath
and buzz like the cicadas,
then let your left foot
scrawl a manic dance step
on the infinite
before leaping with full faith.

When Death ushers you 
to that place that is 
neither dark nor light,
neither heaven nor hell,
neither cold nor warm,
accept the latitude
as a perceptional challenge
and pirouette upon definite feet
toward the subliminal vibration
of what may or may not be 
an immeasurable wind chime.