Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Approaching the darkest
night of the year
with blood under nails
and unkempt hair
and a thirst
for rare-
and a dare
if I'd
the shot
if I'd
taken her
I'd be waking
and not
in this dream
where the prick
of the point
of a flickering
flake of snow
or a bow
and a blade
and the broad-head
has done
all it could
call it good
call it game
walnut wood
where you hang
on your cross
from your vows
with your dross
and your dream
of a Wonderful Life
as a wife
as the Bride
of a Christ
that forgives
and lives twice
and then sieves
it suffices
to bleed
just a little
to rinse
in the riddle
of a rite
where the
might be bright
for the duramen
for a darker

Saturday, October 30, 2010

A Breath of Wind- 風の息

A breath of wind
a timeless conversation
an answered prayer.


Tuesday, October 26, 2010

A Prayer

The fragility
of humanity
amazes me

when I fell into your skin

the world forever changed
and I am destroyer
a new Arch Angel
of Death

when I fell into your skin

a pulse of your mind
created eternal echoes
of an ocean
of last breaths.

Thursday, October 21, 2010


A conversation avoided
a tale of two cities
of two citizens
of a brave new world.

Two lives
two flags
two sexes
two bags
filled with layers
and rings and burl.

Stuck in a moment
in the fog of a war
between modernity
and the urge to mate

is a space that is constant
in dimension or distance
but not in constancy
or fate.

A frozen curtsey
a stilted salute
and intimacy
is vacuous
and vacant.
While we play by the rules
Eros arrows the fools
who are coy, constrained
or complacent.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Thursday, September 23, 2010


I'm still writing somewhere
I'm still writing someone
still writing a history, a mystery a myth.

Still in the ring
still in the round
still just a foil, a fool, a fist.

Will there be roses?
Or still only ruses
or a medal that rusts away?

Are you still writing somewhere
still writing someone
or is art in waning decay?

Sunday, August 22, 2010

restoring the yoke
neglected honeymoon vessel
night paddling

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

August reunion
wet with anticipation
and heavy dew

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

of banshees and bruins

A ravenous quiet
a mossy fallen birch
exploded by insatiable hunger.
Deep furrows
in maple and pine
and grassy beds
in berries and vines
in the bedroom
of banshees and bruins.

Wednesday, July 07, 2010


from whence this dry wind blows
from whence this creek once flowed
from whence I rucked up and rode
to find an unfettered future

at reverie
they looked at me
and said we smell retreat
I looked back at them
worn and grim
confused by the specter
of defeat

I drifted off
to nodding prairies
and cottonwood islands
and sanctuaries
and felt the breeze
while fingering bars
the cool of metal
on starchy collars

the innocent days
are damn near over
and the novelty
of four leaf clovers
lost in the haze of
the same old place
and the inevitable
same tomorrow

to ride there now
and find a Henslow's sparrow
they're coming now
to taste our metal and marrow.

Thursday, July 01, 2010

"when it rains it pours"
monsoon melancholy
weeping foundations

Sunday, April 18, 2010

aiki I

the forest blushes twice
first in muted shades of birth
spring- green- entering-water-rising
and the violent hues of death
autumn- crimson- leaving-fire-falling
inevitable and irresistible

Sunday, April 11, 2010

misty meadow
motives shrouded in memories
still mourning

Monday, March 22, 2010


fresh, sashimi flesh
orange roe on the banks
spring flows and new moss

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

vernal fatale

Breathe your breath of desire on me
and fan the flames of creativity
as the snow melts and the crocus stir
after long and languid sleep.

Let the buds swell
and the sap run
let the freshet flow
under an engorged sun
and give rise to may pool music.

Let me savor scents of awakened must
and feel on my face the moistened dust
as the vernal mother rolls and swells
and takes me deep inside.

Ice out,
the waters rise
ebbing and flowing
to you,
to you.

Flooded out,
the drifts and bergs
must finally

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Sunset in Port-au-Prince

chips of gnashing teeth
shattered china and single shoes
sunset in Port-au-Prince

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Party Favors

vow sabbatical
going rogue and randy
her costume party

carnival alibis
periodic mardi gras
banked dispensations

alternate ID
consequences discarded
party favors

the hangover

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Bullets and Butterflies

Will you see the heart in crimson and its torn and shattered edge
or recite the rosary piously and pray and blindly pledge
to expunge your soul, just one less species
of the flutter by butterflies that make you go to pieces
of the pretty ones with active tongues always probing for your nectar
finding ways to make you pay an homage to the scepter
stamen or stigma is the prisoner of war
the sentence, and the words that mean more than a butterfly whore
who is fickle in her feeding and deigns a future tryst
velvet gloved and fingers reaching in the shape of frenzied fist
feigning love in a bullet's jacket and the powder is desire
and the wings of jet black swallowtail never fail to inspire
a response, a retort, a secret blush and stroking
and a stoking of a fire that is starved for air and choking
on a premise, on a promise that a law will break tonight
and a feeling, infatuation, on the hook of a brand new height
for monarchs, migration, and drunk on monarchy
and on milkweed, and thistle, and Pennyroyal tea.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Halfway Home

The lazy way they turned your head
Into a rest stop for the dead
And did it all in gold and blue and grey

The efforts to allay your dread,
In spite of all you knew and said,
Were hard to see and harder still to say

A comfort plush all laced in lead
Was sent to quell your sentiment
And keep your trembling sentinel hand at bay

And when a sudden silhouette
Escaped the top-side of your bed
I knew you'd never ever be the same

Is it not me?
Am I not folded by your touch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
It's over now
And not enough

Is it not me?
The damage you hold inside your blush?
The load you towed
You showed it up
It's over now
And I'm insane

Wild spirits winds from out your chest
Collides with world and wilderness
It needs a gentle hand to call it home

Now surfs the sun and scales the moon
And winds the waistband of her womb
All eyes ablaze the day you break your mold

Is it not me?
Am I not culled into your clutch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
We're closer now
And said enough

Is it not me?
Am I not rolled into your crush?
The road you choose
Unloads control
See it take me so

Go on throw this stone
Into this halfway home.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010


and again
and again
like budding
like addiction
like nature
like the scorpion and the frog
beginning in
or persisting from
the beginning.

Why does the sun burn with a forever flame,
a nuclear furnace with sole focus?
Because it must, and so it does.
Whether gracing us with a sunbeam
or incinerating our flesh
it is.

To be is the end.
To be Eve.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Confetti Reruns

confetti reruns
trite rites of passage and penance
Happy New Year

forty days and nights
lenten fervor again and again
her flagellation

a knowledge of thirst
satiation prerequisite
hunger before blood

the ball will drop
and with it all inhibitions
we all fall down