November neighborhood
In the switched-off kitchen I peered through drapes of grey lace, transfixed at the sight: a mirror hall of backyard infinities, benighted in a mute of blue. The straight rise of chimney smokes seeping secrets into heaven.
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Brand "X" , and ACME, poems and stories. Surreal, sappy, funny, horrific, and human.
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Camouflage
Garbed in pastels and duns I went, though there were whims of crimson, and blue ebullience. And I was always just around the corner, safe in softness, empty of the passings by. On a day, I thought to write lines with hooks and sinkers. A thing to underlie, a thing to fill this tired camouflage.
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Careful now
A trusting soul is long in the learningof candor’s proper place. For betrayals rankle still,confounding the hardened heart,Their memory an accretionto its jealous husk.
MoreThe church of research
May I do this with your arm, you said. Not ~Can I~, but ~May I~. And then, with your hands, you pressed down hard into the years, prying up stones that were cold and complacent. The roots of moles and strawberries. And “What?”, I thought. What are you looking for? This hurts, yes.
MoreRoad closed
In churlish dream, ragged clouds of storm, bruised and tumorous. Have I lived enough, done enough, loved enough? Must I take the knife?
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