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Groundwork

Somebody says dig deep. Hunker down like you would in the only bed you’d ever slept. With a flannel blanket head to toe, its color-hued fort only you know, distorting the under-light. Venture back to that kingdom. It was not the fetal position; you had no need to hide. Mark the Noah’s ark measuring stick…

Sophomores

Make us sixteen again that February— the suburban couch of community smoke, or how, half-clothed on a wooden floor, we trace veins on our prickling arms. Ecstasy pressed with dolphins and pink ponies, sneak me out through the living room window into parking lots, under the hot sheet of a sky whose edges we don’t…

Walking home

                    I’ve let men do all sorts of things to me in private. Around the corner from the Urban Garden Center chicken coop,   My block quiet, sidewalk unlit, I let a stranger turn his face to me, beg “Pardon,” his piss slapping the crease between my building and stoop.   The August night temperature matches…

Best Job Ever

I shelved books. My boss at the library started with the pay scale at local fast-food restaurants and paid me a dollar less. Each morning I waited in the little room on the other side of the return slot like a monk in his cell, peering up at the mountain through his narrow window and…

The Pajamas of Rufus Jones

The handshake haunts him. Those fingers continue to brush against his palm. The grip crushes his knuckles, yet surely there was also warmth? Even sincerity? Certainly, the flexing hold of those vice-like fingers had communicated some shock, some force. A sudden blooming of an inner light, even a sting of humanity? Rufus would like to…

The City In The Pines

My father thought I was old enough to learn about Hiroshima. We were walking in light snow among the newly built houses at Caldwell. Many were unfinished. A droplight hung from the butt of an exposed beam. The bricks in a wheelbarrow had frozen in a heap. Hammers lay scattered in the stiff, white grass….

The Elegant Universe

I love sitting up with this thick book for the decidedly non-physicist because it assures me there is sense to be found in those absurdly colossal lassos of gravity, great lariats of orbits inside orbits, just as there is nonsense in matter’s subatomic peekaboo that slips every noose. Sentence by sentence, both, at once, are…