The Difference Between Plan and Execution




Moonlight sparkles the frost

Across the Honda’s trunk,

As I pack extra warm clothes

In case my students fall

Accidently into the lake.



The sun sparkled the day;

Town Lake centered the sky.

As ducks skimmed the surface,

The canoes slid through the water.

Today no one fell into the lake.


(January 7, 2018)



A time to speak up


Think of it


As punctuation,

But rather

Dialect, decorated

By accented diacritical marks.


If I speak in such

A manner that’s averse

To the way your words wander,

Perhaps you should listen

To how variations

Play across our story:


Resistance exists

Along the blade

Of consonant’s hiss and click.

As the oldest god

Has whispered before:

The word changes the world.


(December 20, 2017)




Each morning, I re-inscribe rituals

For the approaching day, rescind

The night’s remains with haste

And diligence to avoid decay

Into a more disruptive pattern.

I move through the dark, from bed

To stairs, as bits of dream and desire

Intermingle like fireflies drifting

Through a midsummer field.

An echo of night’s constellations,

I connect arbitrary bits in the past,

Tracing lines into patterns I imagine,

Until all my life’s lore is rewoven,

And I step into the day fully clothed.


(December 19, 2017)


as I speak



let me define you

not as the fantasy

you think you know

as the one who listens

but the transcendent you

who listens vaguely

into silence

as the roiling dark

devours your edges

like slow kisses

traced across

your tense skin

until you vanish

beneath the words


(December 16, 2017)




Presumptuous tropes

Slip like ropes around my neck.

We are never free.


(October 31, 2017)




“We live between walls.

We inhabit conditions we term chance,

Sequence, and agency, this is a place where things

Happen, we can say “on that date things.”


  • Lyn Hejinian


and things do– daily,

happen, but only just

out of site, some else

not you, not me, not

a place nearby, only

just away unnoticed—

still, close to claim

a space, not your you,

but some other coheres

as now, then, the same

depends so much

upon another word

as sound to change

a difference only

just enough to care

which box where

you’re shoveled

with other things

until gone and things

do daily without you


(October 31, 2017)

Chop Wood

If I can contain this space,
Circle what strength I have
To push against the dark—
Then perhaps another hour
May be harvested—
Another moment survived.
Like resentment,
The fire flares again
Then returns to ember.
I have no response
Beyond remorse,
And that is not enough.
This is where I am—
Waiting on winter.

(October 16, 2017)

Dream Journal #32: Coherence

Like the twisted medieval Streets of Venice
I had a dream where I spoke to Ezra Pound
About cats as we walked near the library
Of the school where I work which was not
The school where I work for these buildings
Were from the sixteenth century with tangled
Labyrinthine halls where in various pockets
And corridors familiar students practiced yoga
Calling for us like the sirens to Odysseus to play
along but Pound kept talking in ever lengthening
tangents which bent back upon themselves as once
Gertrude Stein pithily accused him of explaining
everything I had tried to understand for years
before I awoke and it all fell into fragments
like glass glistening the light off in the distance
(July 17,2017)


“the victim of his own image-repertoire?”
–Roland Barthes
He was lost in the maze
He created, so many strings
To find and reconfigure:
Did she say those words?
Did he take the right turn?
The pieces splayed beneath
His hands like tarot cards.
He could not read the future
Any better than the past.
The present remained nearby.
His vision placed blinders
To direct his attention:
Go there, do this, conform.
The only maze was his
unwillingness to escape.

(June 14, 2017)

We are Each Other’s Echo

“I am addressing someone whom you do not know but who is there, at the end of my maxims”
–Roland Barthes
He talks to himself
As if possible
To be
Who she imagines
Someone he might
Have been
If she had spoken
In complete sentences
Someone you might
Have become
If I had listened
To the end of my sentence
But no one listens
To anything he says

(June 12, 2017)