March 2012
2 posts
My image "Twins" is now up at the Red Booth... →
February 2012
3 posts
January 2012
2 posts
December 2011
13 posts
A door I knew is now deceased. Or rather, what was once a portal is now the gateway to a cellar.
#92
The wind
hits me
a mother
“Go in,
find a
sibling.”
Lights on
in homes
the blind
sit side
by side.
Run wild.
Hide the
world or
sell it.
Making a
wish or
bearing it.
#91
Look, I’m fine with this. I wasn’t going to make it forever. The zombies are relentless and my endurance has A.D.D. I can’t even have a decent cigarette break in the damn zombie apocalypse. The non-smokers don’t give me smug looks anymore. They just try and devour me. What I really want is for the zombie that eventually tracks me down to go for one of my plump thighs...
#90
under the mask
there’s a gap
between the sweat
& lapse of fear
where light is
welcomed in if
it comes as rays
not as a flood
The crescent moon of coffee stained on the newspaper is all he reads.
Don’t take pictures of your food, please. If I really want to know what you’re eating I’ll dig through your garbage while you’re sleeping.
You assume you’ve wiped away all the sand you brought home from the beach yet it clings & clings to places you forgot exist.
November 2011
3 posts
Coming home, or leaving,/ memory starts churning.
I quite smoking but I can’t quit lighters.
September 2011
1 post
#88
Cold night threatens,
folds sun in silence.
Ducks have no problem
with weeds we scorn.
A pebble to boulder,
oh other way around.
August 2011
6 posts
#87
The animals talk
& band together
in animated movies.
Predators & prey
harmonize in song.
We must have done
something really
bad this time around.
We don’t see the
villan’s face, only
a shadow on glass.
#86
Excuses for being lost have faded away;
technology has made sure of that.
The GPS will get me there
except when the calm British woman,
doling out instructions,
tells me to drive across the Grand Canyon.
The male ego to keep going,
to see new sights along the back roads
is no longer a thrill, no longer entertainment
in these days of computer soaked palms.
The clock in the right-hand...
#85
My dream’s the door,
& I just the railing.
In the welcome mat’s
stead is pale cement.
Love’ll bless this home
once the doorbell is on.
This morning the alarm
clock is an accusation.
WatchJeremiah Nelson “Skin to Touch”
#84
Too many cowboys,
where are the horsemen?
Instead of reading a paper
they all want their own pen.
July 2011
5 posts
#83
The manic among us
thrive on life on the lip
of the sun all night long.
Then, a hook pulls in
their brain, Will it rain?
Will it snow?
The Polaroid’s been
tossed away in favor of
the digital SLR taking
pictures never printed
& barely remembered.
#82
Bumped. Tossed. Smashed.
A glass is only noticed when
its contents are unleashed.
Peace & safety are just boring.
#81
Melt down that gold
for new bullets.
With the rainbow comes
Hicthcockian crows.
The morning after a
dream I am so old.
I HAVEN'T WRITTEN A SHORT STORY IN A WHILE. WHAT...
THICK SOUP
During these past nine months, I have been as mediocre as humanly possible. Being average is the hardest way to live. Seriously. I know we just met and that last statement may come off as overwhelmingly self-deprecating, which could lead you to the assumption that I am a pretentious prick. Okay, this could be true but at least give me some time to color in the lines before you leave...
#80
Ninety-one degrees
here in the prairie
& some cicadas are
electric as usual,
or is it the usually
moribund cemetery
asking the sky
for another truce?
June 2011
10 posts
INFINITY
A mathematician
draws circles
on his flesh
with a sharpie.
Reach a cloud
by a circuitous
route to find
an empty hallway.
#79
You Desert (former ocean),
home to picturesque dead,
fossilized rain. & again,
these whines & sobs of a
moribund engine, driven
by a pale dreamer, fights
your hills without a wit-
ness to shed a tear.
#79
Wind gust judge
hovering prairies
& shaving crests
of buttes,
ending the tiff
betwixt a sand-
hill crane &
a goose.
Even horseflies
hunker down
during a gale.
CHECK OUT MY LATEST POEM IN MOBIUS HERE →
May 2011
9 posts
#78
Little rain in May
or a deluge of it?
Consistency from the
blurry azure sky
is what we yearn for,
what some come to covet.
#77
Only a few
get statues
made of their
likenesses.
Photographs
& busts just
aren’t enough
for some that
go above being
beloved to
being equally
loathed.
