first drafts.

jumper

Mon, 27 Aug 2012 08:45:57 -0400

one tiny shift and you were
(air)borne.
wingless, released.

a few motorists saw it, mouths trembling,
stomachs seismic.

in the distance, a beautiful thunderstorm
evolved, ascended.
the cloud a furious fist,
aimed at the sun.

apple trees in november

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 13:20:59 -0400

they look like boxers.

scarred trunks,

broken limbs,

taped fingers.

what inspires you to write what yo write?

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 04:20:05 -0400

usually, it’s light, how it catches moments of joy or sadness, how it amplifies immortality on a child’s face, and reminds me of my own mortality

a brief a brief but furious a brief and furious moment when the sound matched the sin.

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 15:38:00 -0400

a brief

a brief but furious

a brief and furious moment

when the sound matched the sin.

i am thrown two hours to be profound but i spend them waking up. for the last seven days, my...

Sat, 20 Feb 2010 20:01:00 -0500

i am thrown two hours to be profound but i spend them waking up. for the last seven days, my windshield has bent mountains. whole canyons, miles of tree lines, snow drifts-pushed into each other, compressed, distorted, discarded by a cruel tectonics of glass, sunlight, drive.

what isn’t is unless less is plenty and time is just yesterday.

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 22:07:00 -0400

what isn’t is unless less is plenty and time is just yesterday.

street, #3

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 22:07:00 -0400

morning light settles on her
like pollen. the driveway now empty,
the dog lost, the children drawing on the street,
the river swelling, swelling up Main, forgetting its place,

until the whole fucking world is delivered.

children, #2

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 20:40:00 -0400

when you were 4,
fear no longer kept you
from the water’s line. you dug
your feet in firmly, as if stepping
on a leash. but the ocean
would not be beached. it reared,
bared its frothy teeth, and broke
upon you.

you laughing,
laughing.

children, #1

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 20:40:00 -0400

when you were 3
the surf shook your ribs. you tried
to cover your face in shells. even
the ocean’s uterine smell
couldn’t shake you from that spell.
at night you cried
at the sight of the moon being dragged
down onto the water
and torn apart by waves.

river

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 20:40:00 -0400

i plunge my face
through that brown skin
cold, feral, to look for lost intentions. they
float by, just below the corrosive air, compelled
by different gravities.

together

Thu, 28 May 2009 08:08:00 -0400

the music plays     and the rain falls
on my hood,     white and blistered.

whispers, slaps,
(sharp,     but echoless. think:
(cracking knuckles
underwater)

match the beat     of any love song
the radio puts up     for challenge,

and isn’t it rightly so?

this hour’s wringing    of the clouds,
echoes a ringing    in the heart.

far away,
lightening     whips
the eastern mountains.
here,
beneath    the rain,
and beneath    the stretch of a chevy’s roof,

the music
plays.

right side

Wed, 27 May 2009 08:08:00 -0400

and the rain falls
white and blistered.

whispers, slaps,
but echoless. think:

of any love song
for challenge,

of the clouds,
in the heart.

whips

here,
the rain,
the stretch of a chevy’s roof,

left side

Tue, 26 May 2009 08:05:00 -0400

the music plays
on my hood,

(sharp,
(cracking knuckles
underwater)

match the beat
the radio puts up

and isn’t it rightly so?

this hour’s wringing
echoes a ringing

far away,

lightening,
the eastern mountains.

beneath
and beneath

the music
plays.

"I died for Beauty — but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was..."

Wed, 20 May 2009 10:07:00 -0400

“

I died for Beauty — but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room —

He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied —
“And I — for Truth — Themself are One —
We Brethren, are”, He said —

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms —
Until the Moss had reached our lips —
And covered up — our names —

”

- Poem 449, Emily Dickinson

kitchen #1

Mon, 18 May 2009 06:58:00 -0400

fingers cold. he wants to call
his father, despite having nothing
to say to him. no matter
that a slab of granite separates them now.

these urges boil over
into his morning, having been poured
decades ago, heated by adolescence,
alcohol, death.

street, #2

Fri, 15 May 2009 01:06:00 -0400

at night, with only the highway
behind him, massive engines
shaking his porch. 78 times
he followed the traffic light’s
progression before finding
his bed. he dreamed nothing,
breathed weakly. when he woke
the world was still dark, a place
where the idea of lines and boundaries
had been forgotten.

walk

Thu, 14 May 2009 10:28:00 -0400

black turtles on logs
fat as ticks
gorging on the sun

street, #1

Wed, 13 May 2009 10:28:00 -0400

a stable sense of disquiet.
the neighbors friendly enough,
though each has noticed the absence
of thorns on his rosebushes.

it was over rather quickly.faster than the blushing of a leafslower than its fall-it was over as my...

Tue, 12 May 2009 10:28:00 -0400

it was over rather quickly.
faster than the blushing of a leaf
slower than its fall-
it was over as my receiver cradled,
and yours caved in the wall.

not one to corner an emotion,he leaves it to tire of its own expressionuntil it is a pile of words,a...

Mon, 11 May 2009 10:28:00 -0400

not one to corner an emotion,
he leaves it to tire of its own expression
until it is a pile of words,
a few theatrical eyebrows, maybe
a snarl, or grin, or the corners of one.