Poetry, words, and stuff.


Some bright technicolor watercolor

December 7, 2018 3:44PM

Some bright technicolor watercolor
Splash from 31 years ago. Tubes of
Wet, crossed arms,
The plunge of awkward swimsuit

Roll down that rubber river,
Ease and youth and
Confusion, mummified in some lost
Saturated sun-dried cloud.

Winter breathes as a bright star.

December 6, 2018 5:07PM

Winter breathes as a bright star.
As an asthmatic wheezing polluted
Lake of exhaust and driving cars.

I’m there, motoring away,
Letting the dust settle as the dusk
Eats you

rivets tack her down

November 18, 2018 3:49PM

rivets tack her down,
aloft along the rafters,
frozen eyes, frosted glass,
worms trembling far below.

paralysis is a dream from here,
serendipitous returns,
the three-mile unfocused blur.

how to climb down,
how to begin again.

letters arrive every four days,
we break them down with
immediate remorse
and climb back up
and close the door with limbic


August 17, 2018 9:25PM

Peace is the long length of a zipper
Unfurling in slow motion, yeah,
You remember that, you remember

And peace is the sawdust stealing
Sound from the periodic
Voice of your grandmother spilling
Gravel over all that memory of
Some memory of time.

Until it’s not there.

I broke my door with your
I tailored the weather to blow your
Flesh forward, my hands in that
Stranded hair wreathed in violent

I’m sorry.

With all that bled regret,
I held your head close to the floor,
I tangled my teeth into the memory of those
Lips, those fingers, I licked all the truth from the
Salt, I parodied your last breath with a
Soulful lung, a sliding toothful pain.

Ah so much pantomime, pretending in
Two-thirds time as the beat scores
Five-ninths down.
I tendered the scenery as our memory slides
Away from the movers moving your scent from
Hallway to bedroom,
To floor,
To humming lamplight sliding
Caricature of what we’re going to
Remember 10 years from now.

And soon, this will all be a Serengeti tune,
Hot in the bar-stool-pentamic tongue of
Something warm, something…

I hope some day you wave down the driver and
Not walk home,
I hope some day the Fruit kisses
Your Fruit
And you forget that
Your Grandmother’s lisp is only just becoming a waver
And all those forgotten names are becoming not just
Wisps but

Caricature of a Caricacture of
All those wrinkled limbs, we helped you onto that
Ambulance and loved those last
Deep-souled-lantern breaths…..

Doors were closed.

So much sky in the sky, those clouds are your clouds,
And on the death-bed of your youth you will
T’was such a story that your movie
Will never be made.

Tis’ ok.


brass rupture

October 12, 2010 12:00AM

i went out back to play and was
buried in a swarm of brass–
trumpets trombones tubas–
ricochet copper waves,
engorged wahahahah,
sub-vibrating glass,
spittle and valves and
prostrate glorious
all surrounded
knees to the ground–
trombones pelting flesh….

amongst the swing-sets,
beneath the slides,
was eaten by the brass and
as an echo frantic and free and
flailing skyward.

daily grind

October 8, 2010 12:00AM

caulked to a chair nine hours and
a ‘lord these bones be creaking–
knee to muscle to blood to
rubble–ah mud.

up on the insect board,
nailed through limb yet
quivering still,
the looking glass swallows an

(laughter would be better than this)

mr god scientist writes another

and upon this speared left cheek
i bury this sitting within some imagination of
need and purpose–
hours to dollars–
nob to nubbin….

thin tendons, taught truths–
endure to the end
mutha’ fucka


October 5, 2010 12:00AM

bathed in cinnamon and pearl,
you feel again the porcelain eaves strain a-gainst a
‘cosm full of wind and weaving grain.

blurry october,
grieved-scratched trees rock and tap the
chambers gloom
you lie in milk
autumn arches it’s back around the fields of the
teaspoons full then emptied of

we both cuddled up to this oak and felt it

a whistling sigh, drain against flesh,
the splashing as you get up and dress is


July 22, 2010 12:00AM

silver along an
aluminum edge, spandrel days
between seasons edged in
purpled amber.

face to the sky,
rolling blind down
white rivers.

left behind but still
filter for melancholia,
stories told between
pillow and dreams.

salience and

starlight above clouds.

rolling blind towards a
luminous noise,
river drain, cascade

i sense the space around
your emptiness,
silver edged in air.

ghosts unlimber as these
weeks line up and
against the rocks of



December 9, 2009 12:00AM

downing jars of glycerin and butterflies,
we are pummeling fast towards the
bliss of crashing stars–
feasts upon the dance floor,
torrential buzzing rims,
we thrash as insects against the

and where i see your steps in glass i
follow, and where you twirl i
gravitate, and where your pleats groove i

our feet as branding irons,
sewing needles, tattoo ink pleading
rhythms to the gruel
we know will puncture our hearts with
in ten-minus-nine-minus


tacked to a board as the sun
rises i flap in your direction
helpless and wavering.

last poem of november

November 27, 2009 12:00AM

“baby don’t look down, death is on the ground….”
– mr. sister

sawdust and ribbons,
skies lap winnowed gaps along these
dropped fruits, clacking rasps of
ill-burrowed winds.

kicking against the leaves,
she knows this is the last poem of
november. creaking boards of floors,
cracked and frosted glass,
holes breathing night along rivets

cats keep begging in rhythms
still drunk with summer,
bare limbs croon the songs of
shadows jangled.

sawdust and ribbons, she feeds the
flames and stacks the bottled fruits.

stertorous winds ink grooves against the
rising nights. frosts
somewhere here,
(she points)
and lights more matches as the evening