He was woke.
He'd been on a pilgrimage to Maté Latte.
His man bun was untidy and his five-day growth perfectly trimmed.
His mother sent him skinny jeans and quinoa facial scrub for Samhain each year,
and his lover wore it natural downtown.
It was the best of times, it was t…
In dreams
the winter is deep
and children are taught the nature of cycles
as carefully as we teach the cycles of nature.
In dreams
symbols dance among the sta…
From the time when only men wrote about road trips
I squeezed myself into the narrative,
these winding roads my only companion
on this journey where mountains meet sea,
home neither ahead nor behind me
because it is a thing I carry with me at all times
& that is something which…
skeletons of blackened trees erect a monument to themselves in this twisted landscape where corruption burns itself in effigy and settles for pennies on the dollar in which a spark of anything but Light (well past the point of redemption) can signal the first s…
Let us speak entirely in metaphor today
let us agree to believe
in a literal interpretation of this love only
as it passes between us in its journey
to places beyond the sun that remain unnamed
even in our wildest imaginings
(because the answers are never as important
…(or... Love for Love's Sake, Ego for God's Sake)
If this is love, give me another metaphor
for Sisyphus rolling that stone uphill
to the feet of Prometheus,
only to watch myself devoured by crows
while repeating never more
again and again
forever
bound to these roles
o…
as unlikely as it is
there would be a savior
whose birthday still confuses us
with respect to what gifts to bring
and as unlikely as it is
there would be a jolly man
whose pastime fills volumes
with images of el…
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
a rogue he was creeping, watchful for a spouse.
No husband to stop him from creeping and lurching,
no one to surprise him or stop him from searching.
Just that old rogue, once again sni…
They sleep on bus station floors
wrapped in each other
on well-bought sleeping bags,
their guitar the perfect piece
of accent furniture
for shelving s…
at twenty I wrote a poem
that would be a song sung
by a woman in her twenties when I was sixty
at thirty I wrote a poem
that was a dream I had at twelve
of a woman who is eternal
at forty I found that place
between the biding time and fully awake
which activated at fifty
when …
This is what happens when royalty
which exists independent of the empire,
which springs from the loins of the tribe itself,
makes it past the checkpoints
& other measures meant to filter them out.
This is what happens when that …
This was the scent that marked the end of summer
and the inevitable waltz into autumn's
colorful dance of crisp air and sweaters:
Cousin Tommy's delivery of
his annual bushel of gravensteins
from the tree at the end of his drive.
This was an afternoon of peeling and slicing -
al…
“Fuck Atlas,” she sighed,
pouring another glass of wine
and adjusting her tiara.
“He doesn't interest me nearly as much
as that dude who wandered through the dark
looking for an honest corporation.”
I didn't have the heart to tell her
she had it wrong
or perhaps she didn't ha…
sunrise
this
painted lady
i cannot take my eyes off
& by noon i am drunk
on her perfume
clutching
this wild bouquet
between my teeth
stumbling up
the aisle of spring
as if this all wasn't new
not at all concerned
with
my
reputation
December licks the winter garden with an icy tongue
and I am left to wonder if there will be too little green
to gift neighbors with on the eve of newborn Kings.
Despite tales of old and promises of eternity
I begin to suspect this is no longer the season of wonder
of miracle births and hope for r…
Mom's Angel Cake
Sift one and a half
cups sugar. Measure
one cup cake flour
before sifting. Sift
three times with one
half cup sugar and a
half teaspoon salt. Whip
twelve egg whites until
foamy. Add one teaspoon
cream of tartar and beat
until soft peaks form.
Add one cup of sifted sugar
one t…
Autumn Poem
autumn regains composure,
smooths her rumpled skirts
and casts a sharp, cold glance
morning brings no offerings
to the lovers.
what lingers in their hair
what remains a fixture
when they part, is the silence
autumn crosses her legs
as i walk past her blue eyes
into noon. (my hands, …
summer excuses itself &
steps out onto the porch
for one last look
at the falling sun
before taking up with the fog
muttering something indecipherable
about the allure of mysterious women
in explanation
summer's child begins to suspect
this may have been her last season
of running in shorts t…
the wind comes in for breakfast
& i will go out with it,
kicking up dust
& memories
the waitress closes the door
& the wind lights a cigarette.
i order hash browns & eggs
over medium while the wind,
impatient, taps its foot
the wind comes in for breakfast
bringing decisions…
Adaptation
i walk the dog
before the curtain rises
on this inevitable dawn
as a flock of wild geese
passes overhead & i listen
through the fog to their report
on act one of this new season
a single goose has gone off course
his forlorn cry announcing
the arrival of a plot twist
i did not anticipa…
