Friday, September 29


Perfect prism compromised
Stranger, stable—rare archangel
Bits of bits unrecognized
Awkward, able—sweet archangel
Moppish, foppish growing, grown
Foretold, fabled—false archangel
Earned a smile all my own
Lovely, labeled—dark archangel.

Tuesday, September 5

Minute Men

Imagining supernal, limits laid on the eternal—
moves the minute man, his one through ten,
the fiendish things infernal.
Trace the silhouette of darkness; mark this
poem, it fails to harness
what the pearly permutations of elation
make so artless.
Now, precedence should show dissimulation is a no;
the antiquated fast inflates, the reverie expands, dilates;
remembered makes of memory
euphonic penitentiaries
and we remain the prisoners of
all that once was vagary:
felt funny, then, feels strange again,
this minute man, his one through ten.

Thursday, August 17

So Long

longer, now, it’s longer
took a shower, made it stronger
hair in eyes and
teeth in toes and
arcs so lovely in your nose
now these and those just don’t belong
they’re crushing bones beneath this song
it’s got too long, now, got too long and
we just can’t see wrong for wrong
so here's the longest long so long
so long so long so long so long

Thursday, August 10

Something Brightened, Something Dimmed

Yellow skull, the palest eye
Pendulous in limpid sky
Hovers, playful, in the night
Tempts the heathens’ wyrd delight

Yellow skull in yellow air
Beacon to the maiden fair
Imploring on her ivory peak
For wanderers and what they seek

Yellow skull, the rotting face
Of dark decay and dreams misplaced
Awkward ever always, never
Leftovers of something clever

Yellow skull so sharp and hard
Many what your faces are
Placid paths so calmly limned
By something brightened, something dimmed

Tuesday, June 20


Why rise this thing, inchoate mess,
in ragged, ribboned, breathlessness,
this fable dead before its read,
that has no claim to tenderness?
A season spent with languid days
through negligence and envied praise
becomes the song of all that’s wrong,
mines silver where once gold was laid.
Their pools of pearls, their opulence,
the keepers of my hope make dense.
In agony it bends its knees,
prostrates itself in blithe pretense.
No clouded morning waking dream
replaces what can only seem;
I seek in kind what you won’t find—
this hopeless and evasive gleam.

Sunday, June 18

Before the Rain

Here again, before the rain, the sediment before the shame
The same—no one no thing to blame.
In plain and perfect parallels, in dusty caramels
Emerges from a will unnamed, its leafy citadel, the beauty of a beast
So plain still yet implausible.
Farewell, simplicity—felicity now feasts where once reigned parables
And vain reclaims the stately moods,
The earthy rising, misnamed moralizing, omens tantalizing.
Permission feigned; ambition gained:
The reckoning before the rain.
Photo courtesy of my sister.

Monday, June 12


Soft warm things embrace mid-air;
The charm of darkness makes it fair.
She, Anna, story told so often,
Fails to make this reader care.

New violets bloom on moonlit nights.
In radiant amethyst, delight.
He, innocent of lurid tales,
Remains in awe of what shines bright.

Disdainful of the frost are we,
Embrace the lives the rest don’t see.
A mocking grin, a veil so thin,
For in our secrets, thirst is free.

Sweet succor in misguided act.
Refulgence draws the bloated back.
Again, again, the curlew cries,
Belabors false beneath the fact.

Regret is for mistake alone,
Not we who’re built of sterner bones.
Oh Anna, dear, you placed your pen
Beyond your world, your shifting home.