from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (55)

to see clearly I look

through lenses

made and adjusted

over time as my vision

grew worse

I understand to see

I must cast off

all perceptions


within my cliches

like now as i remove

my glasses

and rub

my dim eyes

(April 19, 2020)


Start the Way You Intend to Go

from “an untitled serial poem”

grey and cold all day

the year begins again

cedar pollen drifts wildly

I can feel the shredded bark

deeply behind my eyes

trying to cut a way out

I’m not surprised but fear

all that has changed enough

to become a normal day

as wolves claw and slaver

at the door

(January 2, 2020)

note: I am starting a series of 140 poems, the length of each poem will be a set number of syllables determined by a random number generator. each poem/stanza will organically arise from the previous poem/stanza in the series in the manner of a renga without following the traditional renga’s syllable parameters. Additionally there is another requirement put upon every tenth poem/stanza in the series which will connect it to another “ten” poem/stanza following abstractly the traditional rhyme pattern of a Shakespearian sonnet. This is the second time I have written a longer poem following this self-imposed system. The first was called “Sonnet: a rengaThis is the beginning poem/stanza of the new series.

onward into the day


“Love is the root of everything….Love, or the lack of it.”

— Fred Rogers 


like glass resonant in trembled anger

the fear is outrageous and constant

one horrific event erases the next

in an infinite succession of bomb blasts

bludgeoning attention to a bloody slurry

only the noise of the moment matters

and it does not matter even then

but only in the silence it creates in you

the silence of the possibility of dissent

so one must learn to hear without

hearing deafly to see again without

seeing blindly to go with open trust

across the shattered shards of glass

onward into the darkening night


(June 23, 2018)




I must tear the lids

from my eyes to burn

past the ritual shrouds,

if I am to walk

into the air and breathe

enough to speak clear.

What I see filters

through a thousand

thousand veils,

thin and translucent

like water swiftly slides

over a spring rock,

glossing the granite

in a thin sheen

which belies its course nature.

If I stop writing

and close my eyes,

then I submit

to the thousand voices

which slip unimpeded

through the dark

like photons streaming

from a sun

I cannot see.


(February 17, 2018)


Assorted Location Shoots


From the opening, one can see

Flickers of light and dark

Dancing another world,


If one places one’s eye

At a precise angle askew

To the present lived world.


This Vision’s dream pulses

Like an omphalos stream’s

Constant thrum of blood

Caresses a nascent life.


My eye’s curve opens,

As the horizon catches

The dawn, to a distant

Transcendence in your eye.


(January 19, 2018)

Love Tropes

“the wounds produced by stereotyped sight”
–Wayne Koestenbaum, Forward to “A Lover’s Discourse”

he could only see
what his words
the wounds
filled with salt
of their own making
he reacted accordingly
through a bank
of emotions
a cacophonous disquiet
in presumption
her words were
hers, askew
to his vision
she suffered not
the barbs in his
to his exhortations
she wandered away
singing songs
in his blood

(May 24, 2017)