I.
His clothes so out of fashion you wonder
if the gentle breeze from the willow will
shatter him into an ant hill of teeth
and trinkets you can sell at the market
II.
Your fabled jewel that could
end the conflict but when
you tell the story drops
of blood fall from your hand
III.
Tended with a heat gentle as
breath until the crow bubbles up
soon you will understand her voice
as though you too were from the moon
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.
before I’ve started I
give up on this little
story surrounded
by the almost noise
of air conditioners
slow unseen aircraft
the last breath of
why can’t I just
stop me if you’ve heard this one
but no it’s just
from here we see
trees burning birds
thud to the ground
apartments collapse
spilling canned peas
and plastic dolls into
a stream and clouds
and clouds and clouds
behind the mirror a rain-cloud ruling the sleep story was truly airborne and that we shall weep for the very gifts we now regift
in your town the story sold in slivers coated with hard plastic
other animals 