Selections from First Light
there is a
welcome
posture
the sun does
I wait for it
hold myself
against it all day
hang a string on
my ear
with a
note saying
let’s get this place cracking
your encouragement
was everything
at first I thought
your tiny sponge
was no match for
my muddy
window
I want to be
the friend
who accepts
your gifts
sing with
wind as
though
it is a
duet
then
suddenly it is
none of them
write poems
any more
the spirit
said don’t
speak to me
you have lost
your position
in my heart
make
a noise
to get the mouse
looking over here
all gravity ever did
was hold us down
whether or not
falling gets up
in the middle
of the night for
a little falling
in love or
falling off
a cliff
I’m fine to never
see them again
but I do miss
their poems
he threw
away the only
recording of the
poet
moths circle the
brightly lit head of
the reporter telling
us the body count
of the latest war
in the rot
and filth of a
landfill is the
poet’s voice
I cannot
stand it
my god
picking
through
garbage
I hear you
poet-antidote
keep singing
I will find you
please don’t
stop singing
for ten years
I lived in my car
people asked
where are you going
I always said I’m traveling away
the wanderer the road knows
the intestinal trans expatriate
I met a man who feared
termites though his house
was made of stone
I wrote on truck
stop walls
DEAR SLEEPWALKERS
EVERY US TAXPAYER
IS A WEAPONS DEALER
in Mississippi I touched
the pig’s heart in a jar
for weeks I saw other
worlds of clover
could sense the
romantic fusion
of living and
dying in a
frying pan
left with a
divulgence
what else is
paradise losing
if not our trust
