things people love

July 15, 2016

It’s pitchblack  and a pigeon

or  a  dove

Sits on this dashboard

in  this  car.

It looked enough like those stuffed

things  people  love.

I was thinking nothing of it

When it swelled full, far enough

For it to suggest to me,

Her filling full breast  told me this…

Her pulling my eyes to her,

Boldly, for both of us.

Oddly, the thing was fiery  in this dark.

Wings,  fiercely & stark.

They Open,  then  HeaveOut   one open hole.

Gone, she would leave one mark here

On this darkback soul

&  road.


I can’t have us cave

On  our  manifesting many..

The best of the rest of our fantasies

That fasten us.


We’ll see to them, intensely,

We’ll  fix  our  gazes.

Then, we can begin to address thee..

To shush serious nights and days.

Then,  we  can  enact, enable

One free & tender contentedness.






(from 2012)




May 1, 2016




An apple, itself ready for it’s  fall

Rolled towards him.

Looking up from his hands,

his distresses, in his Rousseau Tableau;

Big leaves, big cats, even lions;

Definitive lines

Staged around his hazy distresses.

Clearly and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for  his fall up.





.                                 (FROM 2009)




I contend,


When  honestly watched,

Starts  in  intention.

When looked at, no nonsense,

Before it cums sneezing  out,

When all one world,  as it appears,

Is  appraised,

It’s  appeased

By  half hard facts

&  a ton of impressions

To   meagerly manipulate

A clay  reclaimed

Setting The Table

October 10, 2012

“It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet people die miserably every day for lack of what is found there”        –William Carlos Williams, poet




Aw heck,  on a lark,

I likely heard a   “Hark,

Hear all this  beck and call”.

There, I see it had hailed from  icy altitudes.

So, when I wised up some, and tried to listen,

At this end, I waited, and while I waited, I understood.

It wasn’t  the explanation,

It was the going  on & on  deal,

Passing time,

It was  setting the table,  not the meal.


Big Moony Skies

October 1, 2012

I’ll give a knowing nod

To the brother inside the  IPod

“I rub my wounds with alcohol”

I love the sound of fuck all

I feel everything but small

Enraptured under big moony skies

Where prayers stand a chance,

Where joy awakens eyes,

Guts are calm, but  hearts  beat  restless

&  Dance as there’s  a man and moon romance.


September 28, 2012




.I hate that

It came out  not right

Translating  with all my might

I misspoke.. you mistook…

I’d cracked a crooked smile, not smirk

I’d factored in the farcical

Nature  of  nature.





It’s that  it’s sad that

Few hymns  from pews  will praise

Coincidented   chaos.

Sad, we’re not force-fed all the fanciful

Nature  of  nature.



September 17, 2012

I could, by unbinding, ease up by inches

I just could  cease finding my itches

Intolerable, and irremediable

It could  be that by trying

To untangle, to untie lines  and

That not only the knotted, like burls in an oak,

But all that nestles, like the nettles across my chest ache

I could, unbinding, unbuckle, unshackle some,

Unbridle  abit.

I  could  go.

If I wanted more vague distraction

That wouldn’t be a map

That I threw into our convertible

Onto yr adorable lap

With a compass

And all those stars

When  the company you keep

Must need to finally get a bead on,   and stay

The course  of his only way

Like Neutral Luck

September 15, 2012

Some souls surely cry

“..If it wasn’t for the bad luck..”

Break for a deepbreathe breathy sigh,

“..I’d have no luck at all.”

Look,  My luck is neutral.

It lies like algae

On secluded moon moody ponds.

It doesn’t flow, or creep.  I fell

FadeToBlack asleep on a chair;

My book & pen, and nearly me,  there

On to the floor.

Alone, on knee,  bent,

I’d known I  loved rehoarding

My words, and alphabets–

They’d shifted some,  and had come

To a new sense.


Would it likely be by odd luck?

Or meant as, also likely,