- 2
leave_the_light_on
you are a lone moment, blipping along on an infinite radar, a rusty railcar switching tracks between restraint and reverie. this moment is so heavy. if you could peer all the way down the rails you would see all of your...
- 0
the expanse of the day
remember that sheer joy of getting into your car and driving? just taking off, windows down, music blaring, the curve of the road shaking beneath you, the clusters of stars surging above you. it didn’t matter where you...
- 0
the dread is gone
in a dream you are still alive, awake to the words and worlds spinning inside. the dread is gone. you are a sea-gull soaring above the shore-line, calling out your thrills. the depths of dark-ness under...
- 0
the life of flowers
these colors speak to me in lieu of an other-wise flat-gray world; they jump up and proclaim their love. every day they change – split off from earlier versions of themselves – but the constant remains: ...
- 0
now & then
i wanted to send you a poem because that is what we do, who we are, how we met on this long and winding road with wings. i was tempted to send you someone else’s poem, a treasured book, or some words caught on the passing wind; ...
- 0
the remembrance of becoming
i sit between bites, between worlds: just long enough to see a lark become a leaf. i think about the white porcelain bird bath of child hood; the magic of washing things in rain water: frogs, mud, tiny wolves -- ...
- 0
remember your father
you are awakened at 3 a.m. by a thunder-storm, and a down-pour, and a heavy knowledge of sad-ness, seeping down hard and into every waiting gap. you didn’t realize you were waiting, wanting something to push its way in and pull ...
- 0
:drive:
the long dark curl of the road, the concrete rising up to meet your speed; the knowledge that if you could fly fast enough you would disappear. your broken sound meets the sky and is swallowed up; you already don’t exist. ...
- 0
borderland
those in the present always think they are the most significant. a big shift is happening in our generation, they muse. to some degree this is true; after all, we are living now -- perched atop urgent pickets between ...
- 0
one word at a time
in the afternoons, the sun opens the room like a portal: warms the hands and feet and throat and makes things seem possible. if i just keep going, one word at a time, i will be made real, consequential -- but consequences are usually...
- 0
the fore-seeable future
the first ten years of tin do all the heavy lifting. you can see the strain and bend as hundreds of former/future selves stack atop the roof, trying to get in, trying to remain relevant. but when the rain begins, they...
- 0
fists of firsts
every thing you ever needed you already have; every thing you are ever going to be, do, see, find, remember, regret, forget, pass on is already threaded through -- ladder to lattice, fists of firsts stacking up...
- 1
a life without cable
is not tied to something artificial, contrived, fed to you through a hyped-up tube, turning you into an addict who thinks you need it to survive; is not going to implode if you don’t know the latest-greatest craze, news story,...
- 0
things they don't tell you
limestone is beautiful because it doesn’t ask for attention; it just keeps eroding – building in negative space: slowly, quietly, with patient persistence and kind capitulation that makes you want to stand under it. i would know...
- 2
rich little poet
rich little poet eating up rich little moments with over-worked fingers and hungry tongue and drive-by fancies. this is the story of your life: this mother deer and baby fawn sprinting through your yard, dragging a...
- 0
every family needs a piano-bench historian
every family needs a piano-bench historian, some one who will hold on to the edges, the papers, turn the pages, be a seat upon which to sit for a spell. it is strange to think of moving through this hewn world with no attachments at...
- 2
the bittersweet-broken-beautiful
packing up the last of the possessions, returning this archipelago of walls and floors and cupboards and doors to the new nakedness which we first encountered, with the natural wear-and-tear of years now firmly attached: each...
- 0
cave-counting
i remember lying on my back in the deep dark base-ment, tracing the scales of your syllables-- reptilian, resilient symmetry; surprised at how the petulant pieces held together through the year-yearnings: hard spring rain,...
- 2
four:scored
juxtaposition in love
- 0
there are no synonyms for birches
trees turning themselves into paper, doors turning themselves into what to write down: with wide windows to open, and wider worries to expend and let go -- vibrations to meet in the vortex-flow from me to you to the outer blue ...
- 0
i think i can, i think i can
this is the season of stirring; of waking from stupors and dreaming -- like a woman about to go into labor; like a poem about to go into the world. listen to the busy building: the child-hood tingling of the body, ...
- 2
richness of time, and hands
the birds are different here, and the air. each time i move, i touch some thing i haven’t in a long time, and i’m reminded of climbing a winding mountain: alone -- with just my pack and my bucolic ...
61
I am a writer, teacher, life-long student, and lover of words.
Show: All