Eating color like bleach, the reverse of a stain, the release of blue to a shirt in another dimension, a puddle of white left behind, rimmed with the touch of indigo sparkling.
Category: Poems
The Knowledge
Only because you’re handsome—
that dark black hair of yours,
those slick metallic sides
sweeping down the sidewalk,
stopping to kneel at the neediest feet—
You know where to take me
without even asking—
you know me
better than a cabbie in London
knows his British city. The main street,
the side street. My street, yours.
Computer
The barcode is just straight lines yet it speaks to me.
Sky Diving
Higher up and higher up and higher up. I keep a knife in my belt, that if I might fall from this height I can stab fate in the back on my way down.
Raindrop
Frayed like lightning, dropped from the clouds, wet and unique from all others, hitting the pavement with a smash, existing everywhere at once.
Sky Market
It seemed a sky
free of commercials,
blue and cloudless.
But he could sense,
swimming in all directions,
waves of banded frequency,
like hungry carp
fighting for food pellets
in a tiny pool
at the Botanical Garden.
With his rifle raised,
Full poem here...
Ninety Percent of My Body is Water
I do not expect revelation. I do not expect dawn to make much sense.I look off at a temple and wonder— what religion; and, who is praying at this hour.East, a fire burns, the smoke visible; all that remains of an abandoned warehouse, leaving behind a hole in the old city center.The fire trucks sit cold in their silos, their hoses … Continue reading Ninety Percent of My Body is Water
The Beer Champion
There was a hop-hearted man,lived over the hills, rode a soberhorse, hung on by luck and dustystirrup—lived a life of drinkingevery kind of beer. Took shipsacross time-zones; received in mailfrom eager strangers; lickedfrozen cubes in the Yukon; toastedMayans in undiscovered pyramids;slurped out of naked Germannavels; mixed beer with politics in G8 capitals. Only death did … Continue reading The Beer Champion
Richter’s Folly
Cracks like these like those
in the earth’s crust. Take
time to heal, never heal
completely. Not wise to build
on but people do it anwyay.
Earthquakes the moments of
raw words and return.
Sunday Morning Talk Show
Goddam that’s a lotta noise, ya know?—
hear it cracklin like dry cereal
on a milk-wet morning?
Snap-crackle-and-pop: put the coffee on!
We’re gonna be watchin breakfast for awhile.
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