Poetry

Every day, whether we realize it or not, we choose one of two stars to guide us, a star as ephemeral as our life, a star water can wash away. One star is made of packed sugar, the other of packed salt. Water melts both. If we choose the star of sugar we will follow…

I am struggling with the first line. No, those words will not fit in my mouth. Language is neutral, the speaker is not. I can start fire with words, the pen is like a boxer’s gloves. I could dance this tropical dance with you, but my eyes are watching the lines carved underneath your eyes…

Nights standing in a field or sleeping under the stars, I sense that one of those pebbles of light must be signaling me from deep space. I know this is no more than my own longing cast like fishing line into the depths of another kind of ocean, and that my aloneness is reflected in…

I thought you were through, but like good sex, you keep coming back. Miles, what’s up with Doo-Bop? When I listen to you, I hear a car crash, a voice reaching climax, a flock of birds with metal wings aiming for the moon. Your ears danced, when street movements float through your window. Hip-Hop, Rap….

Only the fluttering pages of a few songbooks left. At the bar, the large, gawky males idle over jigsaw puzzles: sailing ships in profile, sad steamers adrift on a wedge of unbelievable blue. Tired of running, the rugged womenfolk nodded off hours ago. Where else to dream on a chilly night, the planet hurtling down…

This is when you unloose what you know      she hit me      she hit me This day opens and its flowers like winter breaths lift as they open wider, into leopard paws, into baskets of snow. The sleeping world loosely rocks on its hinge. Now your hand drifts open and shut. Rise up childlike on the…

I climb the stairs to your loft. You open to me with a cold desirous stare which frightens me. You show me your toys musical instruments, clappers, mallets, drums electronic equipment. Rehearsal city, you say. You show me your room, your bed. Everything is brown. You give me tea. You play the music you have…

After fifteen-years, after surveyors dug up what they had buried, we learned that the neighbor's lilacs were really ours and you could take flowers before dark. Let's go out now, Mother, before tea and cut handfuls. Then while we fill jars with aspirins and ice, you can tell me that you memorized every back road…

The suitcase, deathly still by the door, sun-warm, waiting in the dusk-darkened corner. The cars coming and going there. Summer an endless usher of drugged voices, thunder, cold nights in the fan's path, water thin over the face, the dresser's black square. Then, quick as odor— rain on a jacket, steps in the foyer. In…