Wednesday, March 06, 2013


The night has big lips
and smiles with an overbite.
O Moon, she lets her
bright tits hang out.

I'm doing a donkey time
dancing on this one foot &
singing without any strings.

Old Lady Moon she makes
me swoon and bottles of
silver toots. I guzzle her wine
and she fills me fine like
ladles and goblets and boots.

Drip me your love, your
tears like pearls, and I'll
loll in your old blue gazebo.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Way Over

Way Over

On the way
we knew
it would be over
by the time
we got there
but we had to
get there
we could believe it.
We were
on the way.
There was no way
we would stop
We didn't think
about it.
We couldn't.
We wouldn't
if we could.
It might have
be better
if we had,
but it still
wouldn't be good.
We didn't
let the mood
By the time
we finally got there
there was
nothing left
but left overs.
We couldn't leave
on our own.
Our destination
was our destiny
but not our
No Johnny
Come Lately
we were always
ahead of ourselves
even when
we were
behind the times.
Delay was
in the way.
Detour was
de rigueur.

Saturday, August 11, 2012


Behind gold bars the saints of Sacks
and Goldman reign free as they will

ever be—solitary in their precious
minds. No need to prosecute the rule

writers. What use? What wrongs us?
Regulators play later like actors with

no heart. Oh, the fungible chains of
imperial favor, the up and dash to it,

the down at the Dow; Oh, legendary
ledgers, wages and wagers, Uroborus

consumer, Slice-O-Matic appliance
financers—toast me over easy as living.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Neon in Your Eyes

Here break brick
walls, work stopped,
blizzard blows snow

dunes along the walk.
Twilight at midnight,
fractals and stop lights,

sequins drift against
the doors as you
struggle out of sleep-

single cup of coffee.
Metal stockades, the
pit-bull drags a chain.

Amble out the door
and to an all night
market, someplace

open, bleak but near.
How holy the alley
under icy wires.

Squeeze around the
locked gate like half
a dream and stillness.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

R.C. Cola Églogue
(after David Dodd Lee)

What he did went unmentioned
under the neon spine
of a motel sign.

The signature in the street
a paranoid scar.
The hawk

as feathered lightening
made her kill.
I will.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Unmade Beds

Little animals go
through the thicket,
by up turned pots
and on into the wild.

The broken hoe,
the rusty bucket,
the gardner rots
in his compost pile.

After  Ryan Stanford Smith's
"Stumbling On as the Light Fails"

It is either a bird in the hand
or a stick of yellow butter; heat seeks
to order the day, the hazy
creamlike spilling of eyes down cheeks.
Yes, what the bush says is true.

Artillery either blasts or laughs,
or points to monumental clouds; we're blaming
carrion, echos of royal trumpets on the hill.
Still we rub dark in our eyes, without evidence,
without reaching, and paint flame in blues.

Out of Context

Out of Context
Job Hunting