Wednesday, September 26, 2012

My Experience in the Hospital Campus Tunnels

Iron monsters
with bearded men astride,
stir a whirlwind
crashing past me howling warnings
then evanesce into silence.

A man dressed
like an angel
concludes by saying, "take care"
before sallying forth
down the long gray corrider.

I walk through the tunnel,
surrounded by multicolored tubes.
Figures in uniforms grow near then diminish
into vanishing point
entrances to new encounters.

Monday, September 24, 2012

The Lower 99% of Artists

You think we
can stop doing this.
We can't.

We can only bemoan
our uselessness.


Jocelyn, secretly puzzelled
over how she could marry a man named Morely.
Morely the moaner she secretly called him.

As most women do,
she understood the perversities of men
She made leeway for their impracticality,
their visions, their unfulfillable dreams.

She sometimes felt life would be better alone
or with a pragmatic, well anchored female roomie.
It was just too late for that she was thinking
as she stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking.

She knew that Morely could be driven
to do the dishes after the meal.
Then they would drift off into the evening.

Sunday, September 16, 2012


Since I no longer
need to make a living,
my cooperation in maintaining
the reality of the world is
no longer as necessary as it was when I was an economic entity..
I am ready to go off on my own. The
agreement that keeps the world real
will not suffer much. I could say,
all alone in my quiet space,
I don't agree! I don't

Friday, September 14, 2012

Quantum Theory

If  I were an earthworm
I say that rhythmically
as if I were singing "rich man."
If I were an earthworm,
there would only be WHEN..
Life would be time
as light and dark would
come and go and my gut
would feed as if I had
a tube to my stomach.
Life would be
a tunnel of passing.
My muscles modelled in my nerves
would create my space.
How different would be
the confounding universe,
if I were born
not a man?

Friday, September 07, 2012

Paperback Novella

My novella, "Samuel" is now available in paperback.

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

How Do I Tell How Free I Am?

The makers of soaps
know the smell of clean
and manufacture all
their cleaners with it.
The grease of
my life is my enemy,
my nostrils do a
primitive quiver.
But I feel it bust away
with the foaming edge of my
cloth and the fragrance of
clean liberates my breath.
The burst of bubbles and
the squeak of fingers on glass
tell me how
free I am.