Friday, May 7, 2021

Hardly moving.

 Where it is either still

Or hardly moving the water —black beside the light,

Appears to wait. Visitors keep it to

Themselves, knowing if there’s a story nearby,

And it’s told right, they won’t 

Have to sacrifice the dearest part:

Simply, I came here to get away from my job.

And because it didn’t rain or charge a late fee

The gold at rainbow’s end.

Saturday, May 1, 2021

The invisible tide.

 Some people live their lives to stockpile:

They amass grain silos of ramen

And basements full of bullets—

They’re going to be ready for the invisible tide.

But they’re not: the grain rots in a column and the gun

Powder dampens beneath the hail of magazines 

And sandwich crusts—lives are lived

Upon the dampened plans for surviving.

I thought about it recently when I couldn’t sleep:

Feathers in the pillow struck out from the inside, the

Harder I twisted it—the harder I tried to find


The better they poked me in the eye.

It’s as if they were telling me something in death the goose couldn’t say while she

Was alive.

Sunday, April 18, 2021

There is no big mystery.

I’m adjusting to minimum wage,

Green, but cold, gloves, scarf.

And bare feet—there is

No big mystery, Four-Eyes.

The cardinals flip as they

Climb an invasive vine,

Grazing on the stuff in the high neck

Of a tree.

It is as if, this evening, the dead are rising

From their graves, blood first.

Tuesday, April 6, 2021

Moon letters.

 The C is a moon.

And of course the O is always a moon.

But the S is one, too—

See the smoke of laughter 

Climb that starry staircase, and

Fill in all those cosmic rooms with bent

Walls and blue windows...

This is where a dreamer’s letters all get answered.

And the canceled stamp has a rocket

Lodged in its lemony eye.

Sunday, April 4, 2021


You get two chances every day, and

A lot of time to think about it.

The sun encourages work

The moon does nothing.

But, I dreamed about you: You were piling

Greens and olives in my arms. I was stubborn

But I didn’t say no, exactly.

People endure awful things just to learn the color of 

Their own shameless moon.

Friday, March 26, 2021


 As a person without faith

It bothers me to think 

Of the Wonders of the World, and realize

There was a time when earthly wonder wasn’t enough.

People must have needed something more mystical

Less mentally accessible—

Like a memory following brain surgery 

Or the funeral of someone important but not


They needed a blur to augment the incomprehensibility

Of enjoyment, an anti-science to assist in


It is spring and a banal gang of four winds

Crashes the morning

And takes over the windows.

They have the logistics of a cluttered play

Whose stage hands fell in love with the sets and couldn’t 

Bring themselves to strike them.

They looked at the scene and put up with 

What it said about them:

However much of this spring moon—

However much—


It begins hot in center, hotter still along the warped edge.

But that part that runs over, toppling the cool toppled


Is unimaginable.

Saturday, January 23, 2021

The strobe route.

 The fate and the fate near fate 


An ambulance parts the way and people

Heave their helpful bits.

The sun glistens in all the blue particles between the shell

That protects us, and our ungrateful senses.

The fate and the fate bear fate approach one another

As though time might mellow their differences;

These dummies are gluing their own skulls back together

Just trying to think.