a bar room, on the east coast, crosslegged and picking notes, facing a hung crowd, torn between looking through them and staring them down - I am strung.
Strung.
Category: poetry
The Shale Basin.
The shape of The Shale Basin, soon to be wintered, shading the bed of the Puget Sound, etching, at anchor, an orbit in the near-frozen water, caught between kelp and canopy of cloud. Low, early December sunlight casting long shadows, shafting the surface; an ever-complicated dance. Slow repetition, return and feign of … Continue reading The Shale Basin.
Framed.
The middle brother was a sleepwalker. He could be found surrounded by quarter eaten easter eggs, or marooned on an ocean of ripped wrapping paper. We camped the wild garden at the cliff edge. Tarp strung between beech trees, and he, ankle-strapped to me. One xmas morning, Santa and then, somehow, mother, found him … Continue reading Framed.
A dream of moth & hummingbird.
The ape awoke from a dream of moth and hummingbird. And, in his dim reality, they were as the embers, beyond the realm of his cage. He held them brief within his sad-eyed gaze, but, with breath, they were away. The mage, shadow player & sage, seeing the ape's awake, scraped from the smelt … Continue reading A dream of moth & hummingbird.
(ellipsis)
… when I read her on the wire – which was odd as there are no longer wires - only ether – i knew, at once, that I missed her and would do whether she was either here or there, whatever hour and whenever. when I read her…
Silhouettes.
In this window, dried driftwood burns on the beach. And in this window, camellia seed scents the sheets. And, in this window, silhouettes arc and cartwheel and leap. In this window, bells peal and the moth on the duvet counts sheep. They sense they are too far away to inhale all these … Continue reading Silhouettes.
