Poetry

  • Around here

    Down at the beach. The lake trying to wash the moon off its back. The moon trying to ride the horse of the lake. Me lighting a candle and sticking it in sand. Another. Making a circle for the wind to burn its fingers on. For the moon to read a flickering elegy to itself….

  • That Halloween 

    We were downing cheap red wine at a bar called Library   Books free for the taking The carafe like a blood-filled IV bag I opened a book on palmistry   Lifelines When my words began to slur you took me  to Mickie-Dee’s   A ghoul was there and the grim reaper   Masks on…

  • Birthday Poem

    It is not my birthday but today I walk by the cold shrubs of my town’s finest lane popping birthday cake jelly beans into my mouth one by one. How spectacular, the way we’ve reduced an event into a little waxen egg! It is speckled like a robin’s egg; pink, blue, yellow, orange. It even…

  • Alzheimer’s translation: Homophonic VI

    Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. —My memory of my father’s voice message Up the sky-escalator                                              to meet his maker. An angel measures                               the draperies of my dad’s inscape                                              with tailor’s tape, palpates the spot                               near his unfaith. Rate your life’s pain.                                              Weighty, dad answers. A…

  • Zugzwang

    One father culled talons from an eagle’s claw                      and strung them around our necks.  Another father watched a dogwood tree burn slowly                      through the night. The yellowjacket froze  in the space between our faces, two numb fingers                      brushing the edge of a sharp tack.  You spoke softly—each word blinking hard                      then opening wide its soft…

  • Dart

    I’ve got an arrow here. Loving the hand that sent it I the dart revere. —Emily Dickinson If it is attention that condemns me, then attention may absolve me: you pierced me cleanly, the hollow daylight proving I never flinched, a movement which implies anticipation. I held still. I held on to another love. I…

  • Love Letter

    Keep swallowing. You’re being poisoned, but you have the upper hand, so choke it down your torched throat. You know what it means to be on the banks of the Scioto River with Josh and Nick and a plastic bottle, the kind cyclists tuck onto their bike frames, filled with every kind of liquor your…

  • The World

            What are we doing  in the world?         In the world, where the children         are playing  world.         Where they drive their little toy cars         and trucks up and down          the steep  imaginary          roads of the mind—         maneuvering  around         the oncoming  traffic that barrels          down around  endless hairpin          turns— What are we doing          in the world?  Where…