loose harvest
In another life, I was edible
flowers. I wore a fitted baby tee
that said tubular. It came to define
me. Fingerling sounds dirty—name of a...
Sabbath I
Every moment,
in the waning sun
is christened with the possibility
of rest, with the knowledge
that another is worthy
of the green’s blessing,
with the delight of light...
From The Adirondack Chair
When young’uns (poets mostly)
say elder
They spout it
having concluded
that anyone over 39
sat a couple of rows back
from Sappho
in...
As Moon Beams Fade
The tiger prowls at night,
hunting moon beams as its prey.
Wandering apparitions sail the darkness,
searching for a place to rest.
Landing past dawn,...
art opening
instead of a gun
you use a camera
amputees
are your subject
/these poor people/ you say
the walls of the gallery are dark
prints pinned neatly under spotlight
//life...
LACUNA
Another sun unfurlsover chewing gumcanyons, long gnawedby your foothold.
A corpus colossus,hippocamping: you couchin fault lines, hammockedwhite matter.
Stroke mewith each toss-turn —a neuron-starved bender.
Hypoxia will...
