It may happen that Godcomes to you as a womanbright as an ocean lit from belowthe borealis of her armswisping along the curve of space, forminga dance of fallingher beauty turningthe cells of your bodyto honey makingthem foamperhaps she disclosesthat she is commonas...
No ruts on this sunbaked reach of road: just some dust through the cranberries that loud tires have left behind. But the furrow to my right,this canal of sky-dazzled water dark as oolong or darjeeling waist-high in wildflowers,slow-going down there. . .when I finally...
In the glass a woman saysfor real? adding if I couldtumbleinto those armsI wouldtumbleinto those armsfor real!I sayto the womanin theglass Published: Silly Goose Press: Pride Out Loud Issue | June, 2026
black heights of wandering steamwashing machines in the willows shake onone at at a time tilt of tire flaked greenbends the creep of a bobber shadowfly shifts red to white Published: Issue #22 Street Cake...
shotgun windchime catalpa pods in october— a thousand lynched serpents amid the drooping fans of court prostitutes a lane of brightened frost inches toward the giant skeleton sleeping on its bones embers within a circle of striped blankets made of fire deep in the...
Let our ice melt at lastafter this long and killing winter.Let the crooked snagsdrip in the mouths of our emptiest cavesand burble like doves in the lightof a promising spring; meltwater,call the rains into your rush,uncloud the boundless sky,stripe the...
sunny morningthe window half filledwith sea across the broken clouds, what a jet left behind– old snakeskin on cobble purple sea cloud— wolf muzzlespitting out the scorpion’s tail Originally published: Poetry Super Highway | January,...
Never changes: cached in the wallets of conventioneers or soaked in the red bubbles of a soldier’s pocket, he poses in heaven as he poses out back by the engine parts and halfway up the washroom mirror of a Smoky Mountain Texaco. His astonishment is shy as a dove in...
He is not among the exultanttwenty-eight pointing upand back. Nor in the two figuresstanding on air. He appearsnowhere in the hemp or amongthe sharp-edged shadowsof the phosphorescent flash; not therein the washed grays and whitesof shirts and eyes, not inthe...
After dyingI say we are givena little time, a lull of farewellthat delays our forgetting like a pool in the creek sweepplaced just sofor us who, just beginning,have come so faralready —to this stillness into which trees reflect once moreas we too reflect in our...