Monday, July 27, 2009

March 24, 2009

I am alive, here, on this little
shipwreck of a day,
floating among the rotting wood
and bouyant corpses.

The water is shallow so that the
mast rises out of the sea,
a constant reminder how close
we all were to tomorrow.

March 23, 2009

Three great ountains surround me
One to my left is rounded and green,
it wears a crown of needled trees.
One to my right is sharp and dark,
its geometry looks unforgiving
One in front ot me is tall and reaching.
its white cape dissappears into the open
somehow impenetrable sky.

But behing me is an ocean.
it is far deeper than third mountain is high
it is far more dangerous than the second
it is far more beautiful than the first

and it invites me to sleep
forever in its soft and shifting slopes.

March 22, 2009

There is rough air
above the rough water
of the Atlantic.

Shaking here in
the cloudy ocean,
I am both wind and wave,
a pull, a push,
and remarkable.

March 21, 2009

And I saw only the end,
a small piece of light
glowing like a hot metal.
a forged sword
falling and hardening
beneath this desert sky.

March 20, 2009

And I think he is French
but his French is stifled,
is strangled, is a permanent question.

I can only resolve that he is
from the Dakotas, some flowering seed
planted in a dry wheat field.

Now growing in transatlantic soil,
suspended some 3 miles
above the ocean floor.

March 19, 2009

The glowing white vestibule
of this France-bound plane
is well-airconditioned and
sterile like a casino or operating room.
The curved overhead compartments
and sliding window covers are
clean and futuristic as though built
for some late 1970's action movie.

I am paralyzed in the 41st row
behind a heavy set French teenager
who hasn't considered that as his
chair moves swiftly back, the
two bulbs in his spine are my
bruised and immoveable knees.

I will surely continue the uncomfortable
domino fall by relaxing my seat into
the lap and luxury of the passengers behind me.

Surely they will take comfort in the fact
taht this unpleasant seating is only
temporary as some thick-accented proletariat
is about to take over the plane,
thwarted only by some unlikely ex-cop,
who doesn't play by the rules.

I can assume the fire tongued stewardess
who just handed me a small cup of orange juice
will be instrumental in our salvation.

And we will all feel a certain sense of gratitude
as her modeling career takes off.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

March 18, 2009


And I don't want to be,
but I'm all piss and bones
at the end of the day.

And every night I fall asleep
on the second floor of my
over-crowded duplex,

I know I am just 16 feet
higher than I'll be not long
after people stop reading this.

And I brush my teeth, and say my prayers,
and slip beneath my sheets to begin
my daily trial-run of death.

March 17, 2009


I woke up screaming
in the mouth of a
great fish, and lighting
my lantern, I looked to
the walls and saw my
name written on the
jaws and teeth.

I sighed deeply, knowing
that I was finally home and
slid, eyes-open down
its long, welcoming throat.

March 16, 2009


I woke up this morning
with boats for shoes,

and like leap-frogging schooners,
I sailed about my house,

dockingat the reflective chemistry
of my bathroom mirror,

navigating the wooden water
of my upstairs hallway.

I held my breath as I descended
the geometric waterfall of my stairwell

and rushed, boat-footed, out
onto the vast ocean of the world.

Please Forgive Me

I am aware that the dates of the poems do not match the dates of the postings. THis is because my original plan of one poem a day proved too difficult. I am now offering the best I can with what broken boards and bent nails I have left of the original construction. I hope that before the curtain closes on the happy year of 2009 I'll be able to post once again with truth and honor that follows the proud and punctual. Until then know that my datings are purely organizational, and a fast one is being pulled on no one. I have written a bit while overseas. I hope that the poems that come will offer some interest as well as give small moments of my journey.