Jan 16 2019

time is the currency, valor the cost

morning mirror and happenstance
pulling hope down at the corners
of a month meant for introspection

snow blows sideways against a window

a sparrow fights for survival

everyone, everywhere
arguing about books

and this is silence
holding tight
to a morning
short on light

showing up
as always
never quite


Jan 9 2019

the misanthrope

is buried in alaska

i know this because
you told me once
sitting on a square picnic table
beneath a dry dark sky
lit with acid green borealis

cassiopeia and orion
the only witness
to a wedding meant
for other people
another time, another place
blah, blah, blah
you get the picture

just a far off
long gone
atmospheric memory
rippling light and music
to lovers in a land
we’d only dreamt of

we watched in silence
for hours
those hours,
cradling minutes,
the quiet,
bone cold
seeping up
through cheap
cracked boots
and hol(e)y

Dec 31 2018

thinking about grace on a muddy monday morning

with all these unwrapped gifts knocking at my ankles
and the color of contentment dripping down walls

there are words for almost everything
in the center of the room
but in each corner
it’s all dust and whispers
poised to destroy and bent on feeding

there is doubt in a vase
shedding sheer pink petals
and avarice growing roots
along white baseboard

the light is full, and golden
drawing pictures that pretend and
puncture actuality

as my fingers grow gnarled on a keyboard of instruction
poised for promises and platitude
never rendered

outside, the wind is howling
and still,
i am yours




Sep 11 2018

nine eleven

seventeen years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes




not statistics





not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary


of love




I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event.
I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.
Never forget.


Apr 30 2017

it’s like this

there will always be days
stretched tight
by the too dry skin
of living

there will always
be evil
rubbing shoulders
with light

always be witches
dancing circles
at night

always a cloud
blotting out
the gold sun

always loss and possibility
mixing chance
in roiling ocean

it doesn’t have
to be enough

or even

warmth is the illusion
of life

parody is pure
in the blossom of sight

and green things grow
from the cracks
in black ice





Apr 17 2017

blue on blue

there is all this color
all this light
shining green through
blue glass
it seems absurd
to think winter
equals hibernation
but i awaken
and there it is
a new year
that did not exist





Apr 15 2017

virtual reality

the world we sit in
and the world we live in
have become
two different things

by now
fifteen minutes
is the measure
of antipathy
and data
the construct
of worth

has replaced

i see you
you see me

we do not touch

i know one thing
about you

you know
three things
about me

it all adds up

we can’t
catch up




Apr 13 2017


and the days grab me away
from the paying attention
to that color, that lilt,
that perfect light

one breath

one moment

take it in


this is what matters

this one fleeting second
of pure, silent beauty





Apr 8 2017

snow, drop

clinging hard to the dance of dawn, delayed

and you can lie
belly up to the cold grey sky
letting go of all fear
til the hawk comes tapping
on one shoulder

nothing between us,
no shield,
no field,
nothing filling the corners
with debris

just these bold
reflection curves
and mist-mirrored

holding court
in a forest
of fancy




Feb 20 2017

the sky is falling

you sing me songs of february summer
and i laugh at the absurdity
nothing makes sense anymore
and everything

is a tune
from those long ago years
when we believed
in certainty

i smile and i dance
at words
spilled from
wist and sunshine

so ripe with yesterday’s
short season of naiveté

when we were young
and you were golden
and i
was just a rose