June 10
I take us out to walk in the rain I suppose to shape your character but two is autarchic— a litany of tribulation as we walk along runoff courses in the gutter and pools on the sewer plate so we fill it with buttercups then run away
All posts filed under: poetry
June 9
can’t see the bay but there’s a river in the sky the world has gone gray without distinctions the ground slick with water the air thick with water traffic ground to a halt ribbons of cars suspended in motion above nothing a bridge is a structure or something that makes a connection this is an assumption and we’re getting nowhere fast
June 8
early summer motifs: i something in the brush heard but not seen light conjecture bird or beast no conclusion is reached and everyone proceeds ii there are multiple seasons within the season nothing blooms all at once one buds one bolts one rots even in the most manicured lawn a wildflower is speaking out of turn iii it’s later than it seems July said with certainty now long-tongued shadows a growing lingering heat addled by […]
June 7
When does desire turn into greed what is an appropriate allotment of want unseasonably muggy in this forest water has cut a deep ravine beneath cedar boughs through carpets of moss it funnels and pools below perfunctory logs and drops again resisting direction this is the work it cannot be worked at I know this well and yet
June 6
a great displacement by such a small bird mostly beak and jewel-hued neck— all other motion stagnant below his arcs craning to look we are too late he rifles each page of the evening sky etches out some new invisible rune cleaves air from air we duck again as chunks of it come crashing down
June 5
The heart is not here, it can not, will not, be here— in all this rain, more than we’ve seen in several years. A rabbit darts through the overgrown lawn, now gone to seed, each blade a reproach. What hasn’t been done, what can not, will not. A sparrow ascends, becomes untethered. Motion is sometimes but not always distraction. The clouds oppress but containing is what breaks you. In their garden beds the radishes crack.
May 20
To wound the heart is to create it I felt it flit across the back of my hand before I saw it a fleeting shadow a large spider already gone before the stomach drop the untaught unease I saw another stationed on the orchid’s leathery leaf another where the garden abuts the foundation another tracing the fall line of the shower I leave them alone now some say age make you less tolerant […]
May 16
not everyone does evil, but everyone stands accused in the morning a dead spider curled up and dried out in a grave of sunlight and dust still small against the floorboards still mostly legs and still a bit off-putting but less without the menace of motion agency is what we fear the most
May 15
The cold is a good counselor, but it is cold. this is clear cold rain no mists in this forest just a deluge increasingly insistent saturated loam and inundant bridge— we walk on water in water one letter difference sure, easily dismissed but your feet still get wet— this the lesson everything is as it seems— an earthworm coiling in on itself a question answering a question the gray river silt the wind […]
May 12
the maple by the window put out leaves stretching down to the shrubs, out to the pines, and aside from all this rain the house is dead quiet, the living room sunken, deluged, submersed, and now something weighty lit on the roof but then took off when I went to look, and now some robin singing, unseen, calling out warnings or conveying relief, obscure, obscured and suffused with green
OPTIONAL POETRY 