Friday, October 20, 2017

From the Neighborhood: Photoshow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXTwuEyX7Q8

Thursday, October 19, 2017

From the Neighborhood II


I run to the very
end of the street
driven by you
and when I turn to look back
you shine like a siren. I shuffle
a slow return. And when I get
close enough I have to run again,
in despair, unsettled,
for 40 years
suspended on you.
.
This little house
has many small tragedies
making loud speech
made of past embarassments
the emergence of weakness
pretension that turns
into delusion. The cries
from this tiny house
are muted by the trees
and filtered through the
versicolored sunshine.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

From the Neighborhood



This little house
has many minikin tragedies
making loud speech
from past embarassments
the emergence of weakness
pretension that turns
into delusion. The cries
from this tiny house
are muted by the trees
and filtered through the
versicolored sunshine.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Fairy Tales


Two women
embrace on the
tips of intersecting
bananas. A portion
of the rose petals
bunch into the frown
of a short-snout dog.
My eyes
are alive.
I don't see Jesus
in the toast,
but dark
profiles in the
bathroom floor.

Sunday, October 08, 2017

Net Worth


So I gave you
a kitchen and a bathroom
which finished me.
Then I stand here
a bulbous sack
of error and fault
that grew in my gut
for the years
of my life.
I will leave
a parcel of small things,
none of which you will use.

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

The First Day of Autumn: Photoshow


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48Z0SGbjOB0

First Day of Autumn


The inside of the hollow tree
was larger than the out
it was like a dream
that wrapped everything
in a lumpy package.
.
The machinery of dreaming
is made of silver
that never tarnishes,
smooth gears mesh in
lubricant made of blood.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Moving Away

When life is temporary
you begin throwing things out,
the meta-static things
whose worth dissolves.
 .
I toss the woman
who passes me on the street
with a pleasant look
I will never meet:
a meta-stat to me.
.
I toss the eyefulls,
transitory globes
of what we name light.