untitled

I want to be a song
lilting across
fields, playing with the

wind, rising
through the night
ready to be taken
to bed

like a wet dream
the stain leaves
a memory

a singer rolls me
in her throat
a player fills his
fingers with me

low pedals moan
resonate me
I trill in the
mouths of birds

and curl around
branches
bright and mellow
rich and deep

I am the scream
in a leopard's throat

storm

lightning strikes at night
trees against a white sky

the bolts leave me
breathless, blinded

i turn to my dashboard
and the car drives itself

because i am no longer
part of it

i look into the
blackness
waiting

collaboration with Brian

This is a first draft of a collaboration I did with a good friend and talented poet, Brian Dickson.

Her laughter rings

her limbs hang loosely

from the Coup Deville her jovial face
puffing on a large cigar, a swell of smoke rising
let it fall like a flat tire

Lay – Z – Boy in a wheat field
comfort clouded in a lonely dust of chaff
swirling in dusk
the soft clink of chaff
dust clings

to echoes
like branches on the side of a jagged bluff
she bluffed the clear day in her pocket
gray on black, outlines of her figure

have a rigid language
immersed into the foreground
laughing at the lilies blown sideways,
bent east

the sky rings out with bells of flowers
stung by the horizon
rising, rising into the sun

socks and vegetables

sometimes we slide on the linoleum
holding hands

sometimes we're not animals
just vegetables

we're always late to the party
wherever it is
whatever time
and when dinner is served

we're not ever the main course

Asphalt Sky

is cool. There are lots of great poets in it, and it's put together very well! Cool art too. Check it out here: Asphalt Sky

American sentence for the Day

Blew a bubble and it stuck to my face-try to have a little fun...

an American Sentence

In my dreams, I can fly, but my teeth are rotting out.

paranoia

It stretches over my eyes
rubber-band like
over my mouth, my ears

and then I only have
reverberation.

All I need is a ukulele to serenade you out of my heart

The shadow of my hand
across this page
clashes with you.
I write these words:

You are crouched,
emergency blanketed,
having lost your belief in
spring long ago.

Nothing is so complicated
you can't let it
leak from your pores,
or risk living face up,
face out
in the middle of all the
wrath and reconstruction.

You dump out your milk with
your pills
down the same anonymous
chute.

I want to clean your face,
watch it change,
but then there would be no chance
for me.

You stopped production,
ran out of wishes.
You can only remember the number
Zero.

You forgot about your cells.
They all sit dormant,
reciting the same lines.

The cemetery tells you:
“Go away.
There’s a holy city
just down the street;
shrines and comrades
for you to soak in.

There is no myth except death.
Including and communing are
necessities.”

You are not cut, but
slowly severing,
and the thinnest string
can tie you back.

Please don’t behead your own
flowers.

You have plain-looking
lovers on the other side.

We are not experts in belief,
or advisors on how to build shrines,
but we do have wishes for you.

They are in the melodies
of a broken ukulele.


This is an old poem. Just thought I'd put it up because I'm too busy to write at the moment. I was doing a little editing instead. Will be back around after papers are graded (hopefully by the end of the week!)