Category Archives: Poetry

New ebook!

Well, e-chapbook, really. I’ve been working very hard on this little collection of a dozen sonnets and I’m glad to say that they’re finally ready.

Here’s a sample. Enjoy!

 

we ran out of gas before we got there
metaphorically of course the car was
just an ancient generation’s notion
of freedom or some such so later when

we seemed to be writing a story for
the new employer on the optimal
monetization of the eternal
memes (to avoid the friends convenience made—
their brotips and conversations like photos
of completely uncluttered interiors)

we made a slow-motion escape attempt
but were swallowed by the slothy summer

and rose at noon to find the cicadas
gleefully gone on their fatal picnic

 

Check out my books page if you want to see more.

If/Then

if fire cracks the mirror
then clouds may part to reveal her face

if night passes like a kidney stone
then the box is returned unopened

if the damp gets irrevocably in
then an unequivocal answer will be found

if the suburbs are raided
then your recipe will be forever changed

if we ignore first principles
then insects will tire of carrying us

when we meet at which cafe or museum shop
I will be all smiles and jokes but looking
left and right too often as though some shadow
but what are you watching these days what post
made you rage? this black mud around my feet
never mind I see your shoes are dark as well
but why don’t we talk about dessert instead
of the world war of the week or even
this flattening heat you say you saw something
that reminded you of something and something
something


so leaves a ghost
still hungry that refuses to tip

All the Parts

I
as in a dream in which we must play all the parts but self-consciously the work doubles and suffers as he turns to drink and loose video games

but unlike this dark wood newly sprung up around the house the chance of coffee or anything decent for lunch recedes

when we were stranded beneath the white waves it was only those voracious years of romance novels that saved the ship and sailors

so once properly cooled and decorated the cake of my previous actions could still prove delicious

it was never meant to last as long as it has though some seeds only sprout after a fire we never knew needed so much tending

and we started off so strong but whether we like it or not we’re in a purely habitual forest now

perhaps this is what the song is really meant to be about or could be under slightly different meteorological conditions

II
a dream self-consciously suffers loose

wood around the house of coffee or anything for lunch

beneath the waves of romance novels that

decorated the cake of my previous could

as long seeds sprout a fire so

strong whether we like it or not

perhaps this is what is meant to be

III
as in a dream we play all the doubles and drink this dark coffee beneath waves only years of romance novels saved my previous actions never meant to last as long as though some started off strong we’re in a purely habitual song about slightly different conditions

IV
in a dream

this dark house

beneath waves

my previous actions

after a fire we knew

started off in

perhaps this song

Having darkened my hand with dark ink in
an age when close and
distant are cloudy unaided having
made so much that no

body wants to eat I wait for the latest
historic storm and the
scrape and salt that wakes us too early
or too late

model mountains pen in
sugared cars I try to

lift the snow with a wave
of homemade rhythm into
sky like berries almost black

but do I fracture some rule with
this spell how many feet do I have

to long for long-lasting mud
and the birds who

visit though we won’t learn
their names this year

either but the tracks lead
to a curve turning

back on itself with a smile
the breath leaves

green leaves shake

so let’s finish off the crackers
and call them
cookies we can watch
a movie through the neighbor’s
window just
balance on this skull

as I write with one foot
stuck in dark mud the other

unresponsive for reasons
I can’t discover lights

flicker throughout the day I’m
more full of fewer thoughts with

air enough for me to ascend
the brilliant sharp mountain

I have kept my pockets empty for
I have kept my back straight against through

years of small work and I
see the check on its way

before I’ve ordered it’s my fault
I should have gotten here as soon as

the neighbors finished dancing
on our ceiling and the sky

changed to business casual blue so with
my knuckles sore I crack another nut

but what if one thought survives
somehow the pressure of space

as the small stones crawl from the sea
wall after the grey is gone

and we work into the overhyped
night sponsored by what you would rather

remember a castle visited
through a dream that always asks too much

what would it sound like
to walk out on the sound

gulls chase
gulls for a bit

that sound
breathing
needles

so I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burst

what thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf or

but what would it sound like
opening my mouth the way

the white heron hides its neck
am I too late

do I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice