Saturday, August 28, 2010


Do I know you?
I ask as I glum
onto strangers.

I can see
the softness in your eyes
as big as mine

You are a lover
aren't you?
You do no harm.

My arms wrap around you.
I'm not afraid
I was born among strangers.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Old Tree at Coindre Hall

I drew
a schematic of a tree
not the right color
I didn't need to be correct.
The approximation
with hyperboles of the grass
spun my head.
I thought it
almost right.

Saturday, August 21, 2010


safe here in the world
of the faceless.
granted just enough:
sleep, and wake,

watch those
with something to say,
who walk in glitter
and don't even
measure me.

frightened of
bandages around my senses,
the dark,
and handshakes turned
the other way.

Friday, August 20, 2010

On the Spit of Land at Sand City Beach

If you
live in a world of the tide
you keep tables
for the in an out of the ocean.

I watch as the cold
water pours toward the land
flooding the path
endangering escape.

And the landlocked city
from which I came
cries once in a while.
I hear it, feel a tug.

I won't go home
won't listen to it
as it weakens, soon to vanish,
break its haunting.

Friday, August 13, 2010


Do you want
your poetry to be
like songs?

We can sit
and listen to the
sentiments of our romances

and all feel easy, well dressed and going to parties,
forever young, coming into
new love or leaving it,

applauding politely.
But that would not make familiar
cold ether and the outside.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

We Invented Angels

It's a grand night for singing
(it's show biz
people who get paid to know how)

if we can get together
and not be afraid of the
lurkers and the spiders in the grass;

if we can
forget how
individual we are,

make the air stir
with our breathing
and sizzle it with open lips.

We invented angels.

Sunday, August 08, 2010

The Slow Part of Fun

We are on vacation
absent from the job.
Words go unread
wrapped and slid on top of the porch.

I'm getting hungry now
in the Summer,
making due with heat.
I keep quiet.

Nothing to write.
Nothing to say,
patience and hunger
on a Summer day.

Radio Chanteuse

This singer's voice
is soft and reaching.
Critics say she sings
magic, about utopian places.
Funny how dreamy voices
always seem to sigh.

Personally I am
afraid of utopia.
I look for storms,
knowing that paradise
is impatient and
waits for slip-ups.