October 25, 1995
Is someone listening?
I talk incessantly.
I speak in a quiet voice,
oppressed by silence and clamor.
I find joy in the pedestrian,
pausing to gape at a spider’s web.
(from My Book of Changes, 1994-1995)
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orientation
Nearby crumbsof moist earthfall awayfrom themselves,a mole’sstarred snoutsurveys the air;leaves twirlthrough tangledbranches;such small thingsdisturbthe separationof the distanthills, untilthe horizon bendstoward us:and againwe are,and again we arelost: awayfrom here,and close by;our mapsfold ourtopographiesinto themselves,flattenour difference.(October 18, 2013) -
54. Blind and Lame
by
October 19, 1995I stumble alongwithout direction,my head twistsabout like a toy dog.This is a lonely road;I meet people, then part.(from My Book of Changes, 1994-1995) -
18. Scour
by
October 14, 1995Enough of this self-flagellation!How long can a pot be scouredbefore the metal is worn?I accept all my faults.Even endings have ends.Begin again, a single step.(from My Book of Changes, 1994-1995) -
part ways
by
to begin againin denial of where we areas if there had beensome agreement some pastfrom which to partways in which to understandour selves and ourmisperceptions of our selveswhen we stopped laughingand looked away(October 15, 2013) -
Stay, Bad Dog
a prurient thrill vibrates along an edgethe way a dog follows each forkful we eatyou still want more than what’s on the pagemore than what easily falls to the floorsome crumb you could mistake for a keysome woodsman’s blaze toward the heartany way defines these darker treesbetween the marks and lines nothing remainseven the air is too thick to breathe(October 14, 2013) -
remnants of eros in the rain
by
“
… I love you more,
I don’t know what I knew before”–Feisttoday as I drunkenly negotiatedthe traffic the rain the tanglesof public and private narrativesI heard a song on the radiothat made me think of you againand your smile when you heardthe same song once before you leftand you noticed a connectionalthough ephemeral between us(October 13, 2013) -
basket of eggs
people continue to talklong after we stop listeningthey slip like foxes betweenshadows within these momentsanother story another taleof woe so desperate to saysomething to be a partof some conversationthey tell some storysomewhat related to whathad been said before theytell their fractured talewith all its trailing endsdrifting piecemeal awaylike old texts crumblingat the end of the seer’s handthese are the moments wherepanic waits like porcupinesthese are the momentsalways nearby withinthe seams of all the wordsthese are the momentswhich constrict our throatsthese are the momentswhich should matterthese are the momentswhich vanish into air(October 13, 2013) -
47. I’m Tired
by
October 20, 1995I sit here beneath this treeexhausted from my daily walk.Not that the trip is onerous – –it is the small nicks and cutsthat wear on me – – – I collectmy thoughts before going on.Ifrom My Book of Changes, 1994-1995) -
61. Empty Barrels
by
October 10, 1995I want to tell the truth,an import beyond my kinembedded in these simple lines.I am afraid I brag,instead of sing, shoutover my heart’s whisper.(from My Book of Changes, 1994-1995) -
His Request for
a sentence:meaning punctuation,a safer harborto nuzzle a teat,and moor withoutfear withinhis mother’stongued heartbeat.(October 10, 2013)
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Dream Journal #15: Job Interview
by
in a stark roomhe sat familiarreassuredacross the tablesmiling with condescensionhe clasped my armsabove my wristsas he spokewelcome backI’m glad you’re backI knew you would returnhis smile tightenedhis grip tightenedI could not moveI could not speakin the silence I could hearthe key turning in the lock(October 9, 2013) -
truth erato me and you
by
you don’t see ityou don’t see ityou don’t see the decaythe falling awaythe slow collapseof all she wasbefore you knewthe slow collapseof all I wasbefore youthe world is only meas it is for youI am on pointit does not matter whoturn and turn againit is the same viewo eratome youtruth is not a pronoun(October 8, 2013) -
either/nor: another lesson in how to read poetry
of course there existsan I within my wordswhich does not meanit is me who you seeanymore than now or everwhen you place a toewithin the streamwhich runs throughthese troublesome wordsanymore than there isa you who lurksupon the nether shoretangled in the lineswith all the slippery fish(October 8, 2013)
