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On the Way To

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Robbie’s wrists itched hard, the cord was sunk in so tight his hands were bordering now on blue, now purple. Too late to matter.

What's a Horse without a Loofah?

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A horse is a horse Of course, of course Unless it's a horse Without a Loofah You better look into the mirror Check the picture window too I may not be the only one Who's broken Don't it take a little more When I'm not with you? Don

Stones

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At the graveyard, the leaves had been raked into loose array....

To See Who's There

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Able to search through centuries, I click, scribble, skim,resurrect wet stone walls, the smell of burning peat.Bob's your uncle; Peggy's your aunt.Name your family, child. My brother said helloto Uncle Shirley and Aunt Greg. I was more…

2+2=4

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that's all you'll find.

Four from “Autobiographies”

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The white space beckons-/ a blank wall in a decrepit neighborhood-/ wishing to be decorated or defiled

In the Garden

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It will always be this way/ won’t it, she said. Me insecure, you unfaithful

Unseenly

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Over the years, his face began to alter

ROMANCE

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In the neon light and barroom shadows,

The Catcher and the Caught

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Like the swift night-black blue of a cormorant as it suddenly dips into a rush of white cold water,eyeing its possible food, we too sweepdown on what we think we see, rising wet sometimes with the reward,or hapless, dripping, we try again.

song of the love atheist

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"chemical", love is/as long as saccharine is/served in coffees sweet . . .

Balloon Seller

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...painted by my mother with meticulous attention...

Diptych for Saint Gertrude of Nivelles, Protectoress Against Mice, Rats, and Mental Illness

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So she set about eliminating the problem, all the time recalling some newsmagazine program she’d seen as a child: a discussion of hantavirus, nasty and deadly and spread by mice.

First the Newborn Birds on High and Then the Awful Climbing Beasts

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"Stop watching the news!Because the news contrives to frighten youTo make you feel small and aloneTo make you feel that your mind isn't your own"--MorrisseyThe world has gone crazy, but please let me make you One of my healing songs. You can eat it now, if you…

maybe, in winter

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I will wrap up in quilts that still smell of summer sun

Three Short Poems

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no more trying to keep / the peace, no more trying / to keep every person happy. / Just this: no more.

Version - 2.0

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Pale like a tracing of a memory

Bodies Approaching Rest

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He hates this body no less now/ than he did at 14 for its pudginess/ and the hair that can’t conform

Die for the sunset

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we get back to discussing how long a year is although no one talks about what a woman is or a man and they are just there. rocking chairs rock. sitting and spinning, just like spider’s spin waiting for him – to make a coffee.

Make Not Thy Head a Grave

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the emergence of the Beatles and the Vietnam War sad human electricity no buzz of any wheel

Of Life

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beware the slice of the knife cutting like a curious comet blasting through solar systems down the throat of the bad ass milky way

The Work of Constant Rising

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When did the air become warning?That clairvoyant delft and Delphic sky.What strange and ardent premonitionheld sway? Where were we goingbefore this hard work of constant falling?We were catching cabs and making breakfast,ironing, cursing late trains; hoping the deal…

haiku not much carved

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pens loaded with ink/exceeding or equal to/my volume of blood.

The Well

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It was by the well on one cold early spring morning

Calling All Feathers, Do You Hear

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These little things, they are the hopes We were waiting for, they are everywhere. I made this one just for you. Call them feathers. Call them roses. You'll always See them if you need them. These Little things carry the good news…

Europa Sonnets - Interstice 1

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Interstice 1 Carved apart for Zion, set against a void,The wrecking dell of yet the Second War,Does Operation Hellstorm fill the floorOf still the firestormed ballroom? We forsworeOur filiality in killing you, and EidBells the invasion's consummation: and besideThe…

Buster

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I should care more.

The Mother Fucker Is Finally Dead

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Sunflower season is the same here as it is in Tuscany. Every mid Julythey start to bloom. Sometimes onmy birthday. The seeds start to sproutas soon as the snow melts intothe rich soil of the midwest.China grows their soy not too far from my house which…

Grasshopper

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The grasshopper is perchedupon the rim of a plateas I pluck various varietiesof sunflowers; mammoth,and orange blood mexicandried up like a prickly cactus which pinch my fingers red.Pluck, pluck they go onto the clicking sound. The grasshopper is obliviousor…

Story by Committee

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The past has no flavor.