even for the little breeze bought with insect wings
after the bailout and retrained smile she slips it in his coffee
the spooked dog runs from the sprinkler and pees
brushes her red inclination against the trembling milk of it
wisteria the you if you stay
myth in deep mountains the soft horns of mist
one line to save them all too late the dump truck beep
what viscous dawn taught this monologue to crawl
rain runs through the hills a harpsichord
one road out when clouds lift the sharp mountain
sidesteps his heart. Then, a telegram of diamond
between new bosons monkeys finish with Shakespeare
moonflowers that look in the eye of my double
birds before dawn dream of a festival getting lost
software updated to fry an egg with a smile
to be the most difficult verb
the effort, with red leaves finely pointed, rapid heart
when I close my eyes swallow a wide sea
her perfume through the canals of Mars
the fight over taxes. Sea Monkeys
cotton candy clouds to open my fist I whisper a wish
morning songs of foreign birds why I can’t die
grit in the wind all my abandoned blogs
all these broken teeth I must chew
long lines of cloud as though I could erase the love letter
a man of shadows sitting alone until the breeze
above the clouds maybe it’s all juvenilia
the game where we break each others fingers in spring
meaning to answer that letter haze burns off
Here’s a short interview I did with Todd Sullivan for his series on writing.
childless geese far out on the water
a blackbird drinks from the pothole first crocus
scars of store names where once flowers
winter rain the smoothness of a kidney bean
cricket half of a smaller infinity
starlings synchronize in salmon clouds over ice
just when you can’t stand any more wild violets
what happened to all those UFOs Fox News I guess
snowflakes in the wind’s groan swallow pills one by one
decades after saying no the face of the saint as a bookmark
the soup in need of better verbs pepper or an asterisk
raccoons also fighting in the dark
stochastic erasures to provoke the blood in deep winter
my neighbor’s porch light for two months deep winter
for a small something like a seed though let’s stay inside
searching for gods in the light of ice-covered trees
the ice wind inside. Having written the date I force myself
my uncle from the stars of winter
eight the other numbers which is why it’s so fat
snow starts too much ink in the pen
snow before you know where you’re going an inch
and inflamed those few illusions what broken call home
of lasting value. By the shore thwack of clams falling hard
January, I try to be a brave poltergeist