Bonsai Love Letter

not everything profound moves; not everything peaceful is organic this poem is really a form animal—a bonsai love letter or a jigsaw falling into place (either way, a climax in both entity and arrangement) what i think i’m after: an epic poem including history, an awareness of history (these things aren’t the same) seems desperate, [...]

Pomegranate Song

what i see beneath me is not me what clings to my boot soles & the contours of their soft downward skin not the politics of starry nights not the alchemy of everyday objects to live; to keep time on & stranger still the risk of borrowed footprints for awhile no. wherever you are; wherever [...]

Hands on the Ocean

we are responsible for the obsolete it’s in everything, after all. time, dust shifting unawareness a drop of rain or a hand on the ocean how cosmic, how quaint what else but marigold fields? what else but the record of a hummingbird symphony? where were you when they whitewashed the moon gave paradise an old [...]

Undefined Lives of Trees

this is the best you’re expecting; a sky to enlarge the gloom, a spoon to tell you the meadow is impossible; well, i’m here to tell youto shine, to not shine, to make oars of our legsis to violate the most sacred arrangements to agitate the sands precisely when there is no sand at all; [...]

Fragile Oasis

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 [...]

This Blank Music

“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 [...]

Notes on Living Poetry

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 [...]