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The Autobiography of the Falsehoods Which Are Not Love

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he wound up hating the woman he betrayed in his heart for betraying him in her body

The Nightingale

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Still, it was only morning.


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Lucky for mama, he doesn't like for his women to work.

The Fetishist

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Sex is a fetish war -- a battle of trinkets of desire

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…

Without You

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After coming back from nowhere,

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you notice some of what you need― a pressure of something you've intended, somewhere without a place,

Harvesting Sunflowers

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While you are gone,I harvest sunflowers.It used to be the same day everday. I was stuck in the Midwestas the seasonschanged and the wind blewas twirly birds fell on my head.I let the weedsgrow long and hardbreaking throughthe chainlink…

People Who Go to Poems for Truth

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People Who Go to Poems for Truth

I Got More Dog Than You

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My dog can conjugate verbs in French. He can fix your foreign car with a crescent wrench.

A Poet in a Coffeeshop in the Motherfucking Nineties

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Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…

No doubt... no donuts

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Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea goddamn culpa....

Straight to Jimbo

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...coming into that bone yard, you just hang a right, go on past La Fontaine, and take a left a bit further on. Jimbo's right up in there.


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Always in a hurry/to spoil your/weekend

Liking in "The Scarlet Letter"

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like the dome of an immense lamp like blades of grass at the sweep of the scythe like a line of cliffs against a tempestuous tide

Little Hands

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She would now return to the waves and look for another shell to add the latest beautiful moment to her treasure of memories.

Hands of a City

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On the usefulness of hands.

The River Flows

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powerless against the memory of the earth-bank and the river flows, through a susurrus field of a million quills

First Love

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If you can bear with me a couple of minutes, I'll tell you the story of my little brother Jett. It seems quite trivial, but actually it has left a mark on me and might even touch a cynical person. I took the time, with his help, to recollect it just for the memory…

Love Me Like It's Midnight

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We are young That’s all we’ve got We take drugs We smoke pot You got mugged And I got shot We are young That’s all we’ve got I want you to love me like it’s midnight Midnight, midnight Yeah, your mama wants you home But she knows


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Val walks through the world, absorbed in the day to day. A plainspoken narrator drones on in his mind. The nondescript voice marks time to the beat of Val's banal footfall, hums along with the whir of Val's modest, midsize sedan. The narration is loudest in the twilight…

A Stubborn Stain

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Like a stain it stood out vividly against the pastel background of her mind - an incident in her past Paula seemed to be unable to forget. Every so often it rattled her and frequently left her with a vision that forced her to rub her eyes until they turned…


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When I'm gone, don't cry for me. I'll still converse with you in my own way. You won't see me anymore. I won't see you anymore. In some mysterious way we both will remember each other's image, you of me, I of you.As it so happens we're here only for a certain time. Short,…


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We flew./ In my dreams, I can fly.

It’s About This Drawing ...

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Shall I or shall I not? Will I or ... ? I'm pacing up and down the footpath, looking in the shop windows: a hairdresser's salon, a massage parlour, a piercing studio, a tattoo shop. The street that sees me as a regular.I've been hesitating for quite a few months now,…

Diamonds in the Fog

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A terza rima

Tawny Frogmouth

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The wildlife smuggler grabbed me while I was in winter torpor. He wrapped me in cloth, taped my wings down and put me in a pouch. We crossed the seas. In a new country he sold me to a bird collector. There I was in a cage, far from my…

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


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The question isn't whether we will survive-/ like rats, we are supremely adaptive-// but whether we should survive.

To my own two feet

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When I first arrived/footling-breeched/you two were there/ahead of me.