March 30, 2009

Of a Feather

Straighten the birds;
the jumble of sparks in my head
shuffle and arc without piety.
Never mind medicine or war.
There are other problems,
signs of trouble, sharp turns
in the middle of the pull and tug.
The blood of montage
comes to ruin our tongue.
Still, it will tell you the same:
You never know about poets.

March 29, 2009

Put Your Ego in the Subject Line

Poets and writers blog.
Do you have news--
brand new dysfunction?
We're interested
in the rebellious line,
fruitless efforts, starving
calico cats at the corner
coffee shop. Look closely
in this shattered mirror.

Spectacled ampersands
leap, flutter dusty wings
in rhythm with the magic
wind, strong and free...
the draft fades away
in standard cliche.
Coitus abandoned.

Poems are selfish--
silhouettes and cigarettes,
a hearty fuck you,
and a belt-notching
for universal appeal.

We live with our flaws.

March 28, 2009


It’s not that I’m against it;
I believe I could grasp the stony silence
beyond the images that scream
from an unseen place.
I'm all for the mutation of words,
the transformation of meaning.
Perhaps you asked yourself
if the continuing imprecision
is aware of the making.
That's one of the things I like about the pieces;
the pretty pebbles, splintered sticks,
shards of colored glass and opalescent shells,
bits of string, beads, and shiny buttons
all lead to wild and unexpected places.

March 21, 2009

Inside A Poet's Guide

The binding may occur
in several stages,
from simple to complex.
The first striking can be brief,
pausing at the line.
One might speculate,
but chooses instead a mimicry.
Consider the loops.
Perhaps these postponements
conceal something.
Gnarled and ungainly,
the middle spins,
knotting the extremes.

March 06, 2009

ghazal to me

You gave your name to me.
Give all the blame to me.

One way or another,
it's all the same to me.

One word or two or three?
It's just a game to me.

Frown lines and feet of crow
aren't such a shame to me.

Dum Dum da Dum da Dum--
odd how it came to me.

Almost, I hear the law
that you proclaim to me.

How, Agnes, could you know
all you became to me.