At water’s edge
I plied the sand
for vacant shells
and stones to skip,
so flat.
There,
there was a tree
that had given up,
acute in its angle,
embarrassed at the nakedness of its bleached roots.
Close by,
an eyeless carcass grinned,
in the throes of its last hysterics.
Category Archives: poetry
As large as life
stopped at a light
i saw in slow seconds
herself in bliss
with eyes half closed in quiet crescents
her hem in hand
as if to shoo nipping cats
watch the puddles dear
you are out of this world
but i pray for yours
Leading the blind
This blind alley
The horde of the golden calf
carries its standard on high
Lemmings thinking they are lions
while the meek and considered
are too quiet
too long
Condemned to repeat
lessons unlearned
idleness
A diving moth
caught in venetian rays,
like a bedside meteor.
In soreness of spirit,
I chew on thoughts of old romancers,
closet dancers.
I don’t deny
I look up rugs and pads.
Imagine measurements
and the weight of heavy things.
A spoonful of white dwarf.
An anchor.
To be here, and not to fly.
The thin cat thinks
All bony and moany,
on hollow stilts he walks,
stumbling to a slow pause.
With dimming lamps
he scans the dumbness of air,
then cries at the memory of the hunt.
The plates of his shoulders
stretch his sparse skin,
and pepper spots
remember lost whiskers.
The motions
I am left-leaning,
by dint of bones.
In love
with the art of the cat
and his season of the witch.
In the morning shower,
in coveralls of numb,
I cook up paeans
to the nebulous You.
This feels wrong
A recent change of heart.
A looming change of mind.
An anxious left-handed day.
Unforgettable
Author, I call you.
Explorer and visitor.
Architect of chapters
in the tomes of my dream.
a plan
Coffee in the quiet warmth of morning. Birdsong ‘neath a cloud’s tilted anvil, and the way they paint their paths to a landing. Soft intrusions of fly feet and the clack of a late beetle. The imprisoned cat, with his round lamps and cobra sway. Later, I will buy boxes of band-aids.
Aremyfeetofftheground 