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I packed food for a lifetime, clothes and boots, all the guns, and the audio of our poetry...
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Walking down an unfamiliar street, / I heard a sudden caw of crows, / some thunder afar, strums of a lute— / a streetcar came flying along.
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So today was basically mellow. The blue jays argued over who would bathe first in my fountain. When a squirrel showed up, the birds left, but the doves took their place. Our local woodpecker, apparently recovered from a day long headbanging session, returned to the…
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Because if they’re wavering, it's about the coin, always about the coin.
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I kiss his sunburned nose, so nice under the beach house. We hear the shower of palm leaves like wings getting ready. We talk about a time we'll no longer know each other, when he'll be sad in a bar in another state, slipping and sliding and petting lost dogs in the parking…
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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…
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I’m from the Land of Sky Blue Waters. I grew up in a lake. I think I’m half fish.
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Our local low rent ice-based superhero said he’d had enough and would check back in early spring.
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and we spun you, / spun you!
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Wind pummeled me awake, smelling of pine and some quality of newness I could not identify...
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When Matthew calls I'm sautéing garlic for the polenta and Joe is squeezing buttercream rosettes from a Ziploc bag onto a spice cake he made from scratch. Or trying to—we…
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now I cannot shake. I am only one person. Thereis a sadness I cannot understand. Fathom. Control. Manipulate. Detonate.I used to kiss her tenderly. Do you think this sadness is wise to us? Don't point that gun at me! There is a sadness. There is another war. Iam…
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Here’s an obvious fact: I live in Germany, but don’t speak much German. Okay, I speak very little German. Truth be told, hardly any.
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The last one I tipped over the edge was just like all the others: fragile, pale, humming to himself as he sat on the ledge overlooking the gardens.
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The gulls/
have somehow mastered the art//
of avoiding the nooses of six-pack/
plastic rings
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What grabbed the mind when you heard about it was the way he did it.
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Larry works the concession stand / near the pier.
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The subway train pulled up and I shuffled on board.
I announced to the whole subway car: “I’m a poet.”
And that was all I needed to do. It was like a miracle.
Someone got up immediately and gave me her seat.
People got in an orderly line and began
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Sometimes, they beat their masters home...
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What happened later that evening is unclear. When Mickey got back to his quarters, he was in good spirits. Buoyant even.
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Cacophony of an engine-braking eighteen-wheeler/
scatters the crows to fences, trees and wires/
in a startling chant of caw, caw, caw.
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Our Irish tradition is rich in Yeats, drenched in Bushmills.
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The thumb, incarnate, knows/
the moment of the misplaced hammer blow;/
the tongue, incarnate, the cool invigoration/
of water drawn from the dark well.
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When you return home, one year to the day that you left us, you will wonder if you can do it all over again.
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Even music relies on what/
you know as music/
for its power to enthrall.
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It is a sunny day in the autumn of the patriarch.
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Catherine, after another haunted, bewildering morning wondered if there might be a way to hide from her nightmares. Was there a way to trick them? Shouldn't she try? She drove over the bridge, something she didn't often do, to buy…
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Margaret will take her seven away from his raging Irish hammers slurry Saturday night honks smashing red eyes. They'll board a secret train countryside bound where they sing the songs of her own dead Mam who lived poor in the world but…
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