Category: poetry

freedom is circling on a bicycle where days end and the revolutions of pine cones remind us of what might have been dialectics of butterflies riverboats resting in quiet fulfillment to the birds: keep going to the grasshoppers: the parable remains the same what music walks for the monologues of rose petals or the hearts [...]

“It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.” - Jim Morrison a spectator, in forty dreams travels, reviles destiny intimates the dead. his eyes are absent & peopled with their own white-hot [...]

this world is unfinished. we all know that. the habitats of strangers are reckless alphabets through a small hole, i can see their deserted backyards. a boy hurls a prairie into space, listens to Neil Young and cultivates a soul of leather puffs his chest everlastingly …better to be mellow and out of touch says [...]

the phrase, the modern howl, is skeptical of its own existence like a landmine in a paper bag. seems to say, this mind isn’t what you think (and didn’t know it was until it was too late) a symbol on a ridge, for example, a footprint on an iron shore. the moon is on a [...]

a lotus drives a nail into a tree how rare, how empty a woman in a burgundy dress is the back of a cliff. her hands make knots in the rain, a slender coexistent rain, rain with distant (transient) birds a wave of atmospheric evergreens gleams across her face self-absorbed, by nature an unknown purpose [...]

a broad-limbed melancholy dude (bearded, carries a pocketknife) levitates thinks eternal thoughts indifferent to the fact that nothing’s happening a sunflower rises in an empty doorway the sea is disorganized the mermaid’s a false intention she’ll come over him in a tin cup indicating death a red insect on a hill flutters in a glass [...]

morning is seditious; the alphabet’s a void is nothing without the accomplice of my window where the air breaks into seasons, hour after hour the city grows younger. a portrait of strangers swooning over whiskey, revolutionizing poetry, invent music, transport themselves to a time that didn’t yet exist. themselves, invent the lore of cassette tapes, [...]

i’m tired of rethinking endings of loose ground and cut bridges Neverland, too  if this is goodbye, then  all the roses have legs anyway the soft shoulders that make ourselves strangers of faces higher than stone not homesick just a moon, dozing on a dashboard smiles, envisions unawareness the gravity of wildflowers bumblebees buzzing without  [...]

It is my hope that you'll read this poem in many different ways: as a series of short poems, as one longer poem, or even out of order, if it suits you. I found as I was revising that many of these lines and stanzas seemed interchangeable. And I myself had a difficult time choosing [...]