There is a stretch of road that often for a moment seems incongruent utterly unfamiliar my car passing through some existential plane— where am I? have I gone the wrong way? the lanes go on eternally in the dark arcade the trees the same soft suggestions by the roadside only the exit signs hard proof of place glowing in the headlights delimiting space
it’s a bitter root that twists deep into the dirt the dark gestalt of things unspoken and so retained rehearsed in lonely moments
was it the sparseness offset by silence or the roundness of the number eclipsing the rest days, days, the lack of antacedence how do I begin to formulate a response it’s unsettled here dry when it should be raining charged with anticipation a bee came in the open window and then left nothing happens of course I doubt your fortuity
Such a long long way to go and still think maybe not– call it a joke or call it a knife it gets the point across . Real snow recently deep stuff cathartic erasure a blank slate for a blank stare for whatever can’t be said . Hesitation is an answer delay is an answer even silence is an answer yes, it can be heard– in the depths of the glades my ears were ringing […]
the rain eased up the cold persisted holiday evenings and not enough chairs hey so when are you…? a battery of questions some blunted by the years some softer, owing to wisdom, knowing what not knowing for years means a bridge washed out a road not finished even yes can mean no when prized out like a stuck door unburdened by solace by desire it isn’t speakable so just smile too widely turn one’s attention […]
If not resentment what then? Tomorrow a sulking rain. Even without an action premonition of motion premeditated carelessness a glance might linger or it might be furtive but like a glancing blow it also lands
a game, to step around the fallen leaves, to not disturb the early hours you can’t not face it properly cold out now and it isn’t a coincidence if there’s a causal link what comes next is mostly predictable
Crescent moon mostly a shadow mostly nothing absence of light each night listening for the voice hearing it wishing I hadn’t– the matte of lack having plenty but just not that– the rest is black but this silver sliver shiny as promise pulling like desire like a hook through the mouth
Last night finding Jupiter with the telescope its variable moons like hesitations, state a thing and the assumption is it is just what was said– No. What else is behind the bright bold object? Quails in the tall grass a plume of dust when they alight late heat and altocumulus the changing of hours kicks up a breeze two hawks pass high in a straight line did the sky move or did I? Question the […]
gray lake with regatta with parenthetical sails derivation of wind rain but barely maybe not even one wonders at the sudden immediacy of it all immanent and imminent– an answer unasked for raises questions
OPTIONAL POETRY 