Poetry

It was time to splinter doors. The stairs of water. Blood running from a lightbulb. A gun dreaming in a glove. How does a pregnant woman plead for her life? He shut the book. The light was disabling itself or He opened the book – To deal Upon the vengeance of the Lord. Literature, the…

           you the      perceiver then when things come            close                                    far                              i there’s                  no mover with                        action it’s                              all right not                        she      any old                                    dirt                        …

on Lake Titicaca Era of Giant Tapirs she stepped out of her craft Oreana her skin the deep sheen of gold with weird webbed feet & hands embraced the Boss Tapir *     *      * thus we began who have two breasts like her & intelligence & a womb like hers & a tool like the tapir’s…

Listen I am tired of being killed over and over your eyes whitewash my bones I feel my shadow fading on the wall. I think I look like a mouse small, quick, running under the door. Your wide smile hangs in trees prying apart the leaves; later you add paws, claws, long lusty fur that…

In the city at the terminal Pvt Gigure of the Air Force is having trouble choosing but leans toward a Payday candy bar. In the city at the terminal a painter whom I once met has nothing to say to me. In the city at the terminal Morris Mintz has managed to get his name…

Between then and now five years poker hands, poker face killing the time it takes. Five years lies obligations you cannot shelter everyone even one you cannot ignore this beginning grace.

How do you get to scream the world is good and we have only to lose ourselves in its goodness? Ask me in return and together we’ll question every man, woman and child we meet, and won’t it be the Lord’s Prayer if we all get up on our legs and shout out the question…

     ”i have            the hunger” in 20 years all the tea will be dead communication will stand still and decent folk will fly back to the moon      where they belong – we don’t care louder than they don’t care even the alphabet must die sooner or later, it’s got wings anyway and can make it…

For Darrell Gray Someone once told me it’s a non-verbal medium, expressing yourself to another. Someone else said, Please accept my apologies for not expressing myself better. I know what I mean, but the words, the WORDS will not contain it. They are like girls one meets & goes to bed with, & who afterward…