Wednesday, April 15, 2009

winding down

winding down

of late I wonder if it isn’t
happening HERE
and whether or not
winding down is equal to
being unwound

and is this festering wound of
substantially no poetry
a sign of the winding down
or is the winding down
an effect of no/poetry
in which case it is
a case of being unwound
and not of winding down

where I wonder
has my glee gone
(why don’t I write about that?)

why don’t I write
about how often I think about
being dead (not-being)
or how my shape is changing?
or how my hair is getting thin;
and yes too, my skin
or how the beam of my attention span
flickers erratically?

Friday, April 10, 2009

what it is

what it is

chockful of anecdotal evidence
this goblet resting
on its slender spinal stem
the woven mass contained
in bemused profusion
its amazed portrayal of an exterior
and wonders at its own delusion

Wednesday, April 8, 2009


starting midstream
originally posted at journalspace
Thu, 19 Jun 2003 06:00:23 -0700

the glue of influence
a tidal wish in
wash out
of tars old salts
and feather merchants
hawking wares amid the kelp beds

lay me down deep
but not to sleep

black winged flapping
a school of sea skates
slides by

a squid hid
in the rocks
beckons tentaculate
for me to come
come closer

wish wash past
I am current carried
fast a way

in the depths but not

Monday, April 6, 2009

[. . . . . ]

the window blind is up
and leaning tipsy
plants their faces pressed
against the panes
no different than the cats
wishing to be outside
when they are in

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

always a sucker for a story

written after repeated listenings
to The Decemberists’ Hazards of Love CD

always a sucker for a story

-----listen! this happened to ME!
once upon a time
out of mind
I had this dream

strolling red-caped
through the deep woods
unknowing on the way to
the wolf
and haven’t we all
haven’t we all
met the wolf
once or twice in a life

haven’t we all
mis-understood a delphic delivery
or dismissed some cassandra

and haven’t we all
heard the siren’s call
the siren’s call
haven’t we all heard the siren’s call

entranced by the flickering image
by the weekly cliff hanging fix
teevee comix operas flicks
turning pages in a book
taking the searching look
at paintings on the wall
haven’t we all been transfixed

haven’t we sat and day dreamed
down roads bizarre and erotic
haven’t we dreamed of sins and

seeking a sequence of happy endings
haven’t we all taken the Fall
into the glorious mess
of the tallest tale
sweet and gall bitter
we cannot resist
the insistent sirens’ call

haven’t we all
looked listened lived
captivated gape-jawed

for haven’t we all
heard the siren’s call
the siren’s call
haven’t we all heard them call

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

before writing

at her core
a wanton container

the taste of words
the lingering scent
of the transient contained
by her embrace

reluctant to loose from possession
to spill what was heaped

Sunday, March 29, 2009

[ . . . . .]

not knowing who
is the “you”

in dark moments thinking
there is no you

a new moon night
and the mirror unreflective
draws a blank

attention skitters
harried into brownian movement
broached by what cannot be

my Double unsung
embraces me