Full moon, too high to see through the window pane it does not seem like the human world light pushes us out and occupies the space there is displacement skyscrapers growing more precise by night a thousand perfect golden squares and all of them empty
ICU days line draws and scrawled fishbones sweet jesus overheard we stop at each door each door a threshold sunlight today but frosted glass a curtain drawn for privacy opacity for if it comes to pass this is a shore if anything a great big blank the lung’s secret space and the blood singing wrong
Again, short days. What else is there to say? Besides all the things a night can be: Clarity of skyline, articulate distance. I love the red of WONDER BREAD, of CITY LIGHT, old neon signs, all heart. It’s no good here in the thick of it, LED bright and still the ankle twists to the gutter. A huddle passes, soft people, shapes only, the very power of suggestion. And then the street empties out, except […]
And here we are, snow come and melted, the same cool gray as ever. This damp feels like the smell of home after a time away, familiar become new, for just a moment, novel, known. And here we are, the year dwindling, eternal northern nights. Breath like a cloud. It isn’t sadness yet, but something more rare. We had a true blizzard once, trees felled by ice. Numbering the days: what was, what will. Turning […]
Cold coming over the pass, cold rain, the steep drop, the silent lake, couldn’t see a thing. And the lights of those first few towns, so warm at a distance– another arrival, and what then? A stone, no other word. Unmoved and unmovable, aloof. Knit a nest for it, feather the den, dust off the snow– or don’t.
The dawn keeps on dawning. What was it that I thought I saw? Quickly forget the taste of lime and salt, warmth that lingers like an honest embrace. Cold rain. The gingko piebald, a tree at half-mast. What is love and what is loveable? The vacant building has a gray façade. A gray car passes in the slick gray street, the fallen leaves too damp to lift. A heavy act, to turn away, withholding. Mark […]
Election night, and sick as a dog. Something I ate. Easy to tell when a thing has gone rancid, but hard to tell when it hides what it is. Take the medicine, stay hydrated, wake up to see what’s become of the world, if it has returned to what was great, for some, who could afford it, and looked just right. And then those dumb appetizers, shit on a platter, too seasoned with hate, too […]
Still here, still, here. How many times did she say it? The practice is yoking together. Sprawled along the floor like I know what I’m doing, Ujjayi, ocean breath, now come and meet this foreign body, a little space, a little more, a common interest we seem to share, now tell me more–
A bowl of limes in Mexican pewter its lines drew me at the thrift store coarse engravings a primordial river and lighter than it looks . A lime tree does better in drought than in abundance deprivation at its sour heart although with so much juice it’s tempting to say sweetness of course it isn’t but is also not bitter the childlike green belies the nuance . It is a promise in a way to […]
// Berceuse // The small dog got her hackles up before the owl lit on the roof a small soft sound like a slide of dirt outside in the open stretch of night its compatriot hoo-ed and we argued over stars this is arcturus or is it mars? I was wrong; dry air, water in my eyes, the largesse of sky cradled in these dry grass hills– the town, the hour, everything stilled, even the tumult […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 