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Not one stone is left on another, and not one day Is left to rest on another, either, But bad news kicks it underfoot and tramples it. At each day’s end, an American with aging vision Bends closer to a soup can picked off a canned goods shelf To spot the betrayal lurking in its…
When the seaweed’s bladders swoon and the tide batters and tears at them, sending the bladder wrack to toss with the seal’s gross afterbirth, I say, Bladder wrack, if the sea cares and is good, why should the sea slap you to rocks, leave you in thirst, come to slap again, forty days, forty thousand…
Life makes a sea full of superfluous things. In shallow waters among seagrass meadows hide toy dragons with frilly appendages like tattered leaves. Such dragon wings, never meant for flight, help them merge into the background of kelp beds, swaying back and forth with the lukewarm current, back and forth like flotsam. Their eyes above…
Why anyone wanted a God the Watcher eluded me. Mystery. But then, one wants to be noted, or at least, noteworthy. Worth keeping an eye on, and so, behaving a little better than might otherwise. And so while reading A Hole Is to Dig maybe my delivery has improved taking pains to pronounce: children are…
There was the time I got stuck in a long line of cars entering a parking garage. Impatiently, I left my car (motor still on) and went for a walk. I walked around the park, under the big shade trees. The ground, that time of year, was covered with pine needles and my feet crunched…
I was thinking about why souls have bodies, what can a body do that a soul can’t, and about the Amish or Mennonites, the ones whose children were so sick with the same disease that struck generation after generation, until finally one doctor figured out how to help them. But while he was figuring, he…
Music is one of the first things to go in the general condition of being out of it– you know that when you’re behind the old broadcaster on line at the liquor store and her ringer is a happy snatch of a song that sounds like cutoffs around a keg in Happy Valley, PA, home…
A mermaid crawls out of my mouth to meet you in this poem, my teacher who calls me teacher and therefore is my teacher, who shows me how to knot a net to make the moon rise during night watch on calm seas while the other sailors sleep. We are the ocean and our speaking…
In some corner of this desert plateau, native habitat to the partly run-over soda bottle, freckled with spilled antifreeze and pied patches of putrid something or other, a plastic bag is snagged like a tumbleweed in a perfect cube of hedge. At night, heat radiates off concrete like an exhale of relief in this legendary…
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