Day and night, vise-like, bookends to whatever this is. A return? Or stalled momentum. Pieces of salt, like stars, stud the black ice. This year drawn out to its breaking point– a twist of the champagne cork– anticipation is such a terrible ache. And this cold cuts to the bone. Waiting for a word, a sign, breath suspended in the frigid air, and fingers gone numb, only hurting when they touch something warm– a loss […]
The high was still low. In the shade the cold was bitter, and when the wind picked up– Three arbors of grapes, overgrown, neglected, and some chipped clipping shears. What makes a return prodigal? A morass, deadwood, suckers, shoots the color of rust, dried blood, arteries, and the ashen ghosts of summer after summer. Excise, and find the form inherent. To finish a thing, just one thing, done in its proper season and sequence. A […]
The shortest day gives way to the longest night. Of course. The street, this building, quieter than usual, perhaps everyone gone, travelling home, or just asleep. The hour is late, maybe the emptiness woke me, that big, smooth zero, like a rock of ice. You know it would float. That doesn’t make sense, I know. Of course. But that doesn’t make it wrong, either. Harbingers, suddenly listening to Tom Waits, craving a racket. There are […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 