Only the slightest opportunity to gather my humility and ask, Barely an interest in the falling snow Of seasons and the heat of minds taking notice Of arrears or evictions. Clever tendencies eviscerated, cloven, sunken, Meted out so again … Continue reading →
Two as one, a thousand to one Taking chances, making plans, Feeling ourselves fall apart. Wooden toys, doll eyes, dog toys, Refreshments for the shade, Prism for the sun to analyze her rainbow proclivities, Her taste in men. Dead … Continue reading →
Faberge, Flaubert, Rimbaud, Verlaine. Poor Montaigne on his estate, Poorer still the illiterate tribute, Arms, legs, courts abusing the ruffian class, Themselves abjured, adored from distances Shores of the Americas, the Southern hemisphere Green as independence. Intermittent, accosted but … Continue reading →
Over the saga that shapes us, Bruises the land and with each other We go short, bitten, aging. The Fall grass gives up one color for another, Gracious number full of thanks. I spent the evening thinking of my … Continue reading →
Close to us, Skin and pulse close, As wrist and tendons going into the hand, The rings no longer fitting my slightly swollen fingers. Sizzling fat and oil in a pan, In the brain pan of the hominid band, … Continue reading →
Writing Through Cancer 10/25/25 Fears from Childhood Fear of falling, fear of flying, Toasted by hot or left where there is only blowing snow going by And the legs of the grown-ups I hold to. Rough corduroy on … Continue reading →
Eat to live, Negotiating the fines, the water boiling, The family outcaste, refugee, sin in the eye of the beholder Holding as each to their falsehoods – As poverty of insight and belief in life. No commodity on contested … Continue reading →
Not rolling the dice, not being shy to say so. A bloom is a soon to come tune like a mountain From which it comes. The land washes this way, The uncertainty of the tumble, the grist, Determination to … Continue reading →
Pull a string from anywhere if it is all connected anyway, Projection I make dim as slides on the screen Of science and her quantum flux, nuance of war And clean rooms publishing that next graves are lined with … Continue reading →
No question of identity, achievement, ritual in poetry and a healthy career, family or legacy. The steeping pot, the morning sun or rubbed hills or copper shined by a wheel, A wheel that wears me down as much as … Continue reading →