Monthly Archives: March 2018


Across this tremendous expanse of White-powder sand What bitten logs have collected And odd rubber-thongs A water-damaged book jacket — Detritus people and time Have left behind When it is cold nobody comes But I happen to Wandering down the open, inviting path Hoping my footprints will trace out A pattern that could make the […]


It is the age of narcissism I sit losing myself Burning my brain Straining to write A micro-verse Blunt, artless, complete Is left in amongst the ashes Ribbons of blind words Unspool like bandages From the nib, scratching paper Scratching the soul That aches from torpid healing


so bri(st ars)ght a(in)re th(th e)ey shi(da rk)ning (blu e)for(ni ght)me


My best poem yet will be like his personality: riotous as mountain rapids unfrustrated by frustrations

double souls

we sit reading our letters before mailing them fielding polite questions speaking the obvious all the time tracing out uncertainty like a watermark, so on the page a clot of it appears and a gash widens words of our souls entering the hole blood beating beneath the stubborn clot what we are going through has […]


No matter what happens with us, your mind Will always haunt me: sensitive, open He takes mine into a broad chamber where I rise and fall to his blood’s beat, Hear his breath move, cling and clamber there. Do I give myself to him? Not as a handmaiden, bitterly and slavishly But as a child […]


At last, I understand How poems are unlike actions — The one who argues Writing is not an inaction Despite this being Itself an action — A gesture Is pure No time to channel The head’s weather or Movements of the heart It is without motive A parent’s Protection My teacher’s Direction Are innocent and […]

Lipstick Hour

The air catches fire at their touch Leaves of the old oak, swaying thoughtfully Aren’t they lipstick-red, there in the sun’s gaze? Countless women strut out every daybreak, Few ever read their steps Fearlessness, moving among the hours, Knows them better than they know themselves She is pushing forth towards spaces, Those she’s never been, […]


It was one of those extremely rare occasions when notes on serviettes turned out as verses rather than scattered words. 1. how many lifetimes must we spend on these endless cycles of fighting and making up 2. The heart is made to balloon and collapse How often whorling from escaping dreams it lands on hard […]