Friday, July 1, 2016

Everyone is a sleep

Across the dark caverns
of our silent home,
I wake
to the rhythms
and repetitions
of her worry.

Through layers
of  shell and yolk,
I emerge a fledgling
imprinted with her song.

Friday, June 24, 2016


She carves herself
into a rocking chair,
and finds her place
on the porch.

In a steady sway
of grainy regret,
the hurt of having
flesh remains.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Amphibian Polygamy

We have joined a nudist colony of toads--
a slippery, slimy, intoxicating plunge.

By moonlit pools of treacherous muck,
we catch last glimpses of our love.
Zucchini blossoms
abort themselves
over well-fertilized soil.

Along a gravel path,
so littered with weeds,
a stranger asks

if we have children

Thursday, April 15, 2010


I roll through the day like a trapezoid.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010


I army crawl
through halls,
passing below
the suppressive
of the workday.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010


A poem wakes up and looks for someone to write him,
but no one is there, so he goes back to sleep.

Friday, April 9, 2010

What Writing Used to Be

It used to be
I'd grab a pencil,
and bring the tip
against my forehead.

I'd pause
for just a moment,
and slam my head
against the table.

With twist and turns,
the boring would begin.
And I'd watch
liquid brain drip out.

Thursday, April 8, 2010


Isabelle is playing possum
in the fields again,
pretending to be dead
as the day goes by.

As grass grows
and bug swarm
we kick dirt at her
and laugh.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Old Town

It must be spring--
Through open windows,
the roar of trucks rolling by.

Monday, April 5, 2010


I am the corner
of a page
folded over.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

I drip down the leg
of my favorite chair
and drown in a pool
of boredom.

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Breadmaker

Bread crumbs shed
on the kitchen floor.
Through dusty waves
of whole wheat pollen,
we watch the bread tree grow.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

She is carrots and beets,
and parsnips bent
over wooden spoons,
swells of sauvignon
dried out
on the floor.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


Banana wheel rolls
off counter's edge

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

She calmly packs
her things
into the blender.

Mountain Laurel


Beneath her knife,
the seesaw
of apple slice.

Monday, May 4, 2009


Along battered cascades,
mossy rocks
and pink tube socks.
The sycamore's pale
yellow and green
sway above like buggers
in a breeze

Bee in Wild Geranium

May 3rd

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


Sour waves of violence
on the palimpsest of mind

Friday, January 30, 2009

Yarn Over

She knits
green scarves
to undo
what's unraveled.

Friday, January 23, 2009

She parachutes over acres of love,

Tuesday, January 20, 2009


the fruits
that fall
our lives.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Glancing Blows

The unwelcoming
of patience lost.

I've seen that look
Sips of gas-stop's finest
on endless roads.

I drive with the sludge
on my mind.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

The unflooding of winter
back into a dusty autumn day.

Saturday, January 3, 2009


The subtle pause
of a new
Wrapped in blankets
and snow

I remember anew
my love

Monday, December 22, 2008

The sounds 
of a dissertation

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Dishes break themselves
on the kitchen floor.
Cupboard-doors slam
against the woodwork.

I watch as a woman
(who for so long
has been invisible)
tries to make herself known.
A women is bent
into a staircase
and walked upon.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

To her,
I am 
just a strange
sack of skin
with eyes.
We come home 
and find
the compassion 
we've saved
(for years)
is gone.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

A woman weeps
over gallon jugs:
three for a quarter
one for a dime.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008


I slip into silver
on the slipperiest
of slopes.
From faucet to drain -
she appears and vanishes
like drops of water.

Hands on a Mug

Oolong tea
oozes warmth
and reprise.
in a dream
of powdery snow
We are dragged
through winter days
so swollen 
with rain and mud

Holiday Conservation

We patch
and iron out
the torn
and crumpled-up
wrapping paper

Wednesday, November 12, 2008


You give to me
that pan-fried, 
fishy smile again.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

The foliage unwinds -
our hands sway 
above the orange 
and browns

Saturday, October 11, 2008

I find holes
in bed
I've slipped

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


We toss her tears
from the windowsill
and make rainbows.
She folds 
green sheets
twice over.

the worn 

she revisits
the memory
of her rape.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


Some will say 
that you ran away
(and that is fine).

I know you ran away
to find me
(and that is better).
The immunity of trauma
held hostage in secrecy.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

A bird flew
straight into me 
and died.

My becoming 
from persons
to animals