Thursday, April 25, 2013



Middling through a forest unawares
obscure bright cancers grant me certain life
as if, agape, I enter something wild.


If this is hell, why all the calm?

Half-eaten fruits &
prior women

the sins that enter emerge anew

on a side I've never considered.


Things don't work
so well anymore.

A force of a forest, a cane,
a final wreck.

My knee is still sore.

Your face glides across the waters
like one of those leggy, slim bugs.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


Receding to brown: day
swept over precision attacks

my fan base is on board
as the last train leaves

& your heart is an expanse
of flowered bandwidth:

don't stop the crocus
or the golden finch

each part once embedded,
numbered, now pried loose

from the fence post
but I cannot push

the water through the gate.