she’s a trapeze artist
came to my tent
last night smelled of
cigarettes and tasted
like cold-cream
I can barely walk
since the illness
the stabbing pain
just below my heart
continues she tells
me the fortune teller
foresees a gloriously
bright future as soon
as the longest night
ends which is impossible
to predict then she says
I will heal return
as the human
cannon ball set a
new standard in
arial maneuvers
but she’s biased
at home in the air
flying whirling
trapeze artist living
without the need
of an itinerant
circus safety net
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 1:08 AM UTC
she’s a trapeze artist
came to my tent
last night smelled of
cigarettes and tasted
like cold-cream
I can barely walk
since the illness
the stabbing pain
just below my heart
continues she tells
me the fortune teller
foresees a gloriously
bright future as soon
as the longest night
ends which is impossible
to predict then she says
I will heal return
as the human
cannon ball set a
new standard in
arial maneuvers
but she’s biased
at home in the air
flying whirling
trapeze artist living
without the need
of an itinerant
circus safety net
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 12:40 AM UTC
He is a
yardstick,
a measure
of something.
He is a
body, something
worn like a
suit of clothes.
He is a
string of words,
a sentence
to be parsed.
He is an
individual,
a myth
that is told.
He is a vast
space,
a screen life
is projected on.
Dec 28, 2025
Dec 28, 2025 at 11:45 PM UTC
a retired boxer
who threw his
fights drunkenly
staggers onto the
street the choir
singing The First Noel
Santa’s collecting
money the actress
strolls by wearing
her painted stage
face just outside
the bar where the
political speech
writer lights a
cigarette the boxer
has a heart attack
the actress stands
in the spotlight of
the street lamp the
speech writer declares
He’s dead—the actress
laments Good Lord!
the choir sings O Little
Town Of Bethlehem
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 3:51 AM UTC
her thoughts
in the garage
in the trunk
of the car
a spare tire
and roadside
flares she returns
to the present
moment as the
water slowly
comes to boil
soon she will
be on the road
to see her
father
descending
into dementia
slowly bit by
bit and the
light goes out
the bulb has
burned out so
in the dim
morning glow
she pours the
water over the
grounds
coffee collects
drip by drip
the snow
softly gently
falling piling
up her mind
in the
trunk of the
car a spare
tire and
roadside flares
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 6:30 PM UTC
my dog barking
at its own
shadow a stranger
in the house
who looks like
me and I
seem to be
somewhere else
possibly walking
an unknown dog
possibly in the
house talking
to my shadow
or the dog’s
or already
on my way
to somewhere
else entirely
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 2:56 AM UTC
snow piled up
taller than a
human being
a blank
vista he sits
listening
to the
silence
a shadow
passing
on the white
wall
a potato in
the oven another
nameless day
slow-motion
smoke from a
chimney
the tick-
tock from the
old clock
whose music
is no
longer relevant
Dec 3, 2025
Dec 3, 2025 at 7:54 PM UTC
she’s a rodeo clown
disguised as a
fashion model
smoking a cigarette
just outside the
convenience store-
gas station he’s a
shadow filling
his gas tank
he sees her his
ex-girlfriend with
new facade face
the sun setting
soon he will
merge with the
night she will dye
her hair buy
a new outfit
in the morning
he will be a patch
of darkness an
elongated distortion
on cold sunny
pavement as she
walks the runway in
the photographer’s
glaring flashing lights
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 3:38 AM UTC
words descend
like leaves in
the mind death
colorful
brittle
scattered
all around
she forms the
leaves into
a perfect
spiral
under the
brilliant
harvest moon
and burns them
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
standing in front
of his house at
dusk under the
streetlamp trying
to decide and
the unnoticed
neighbor in a
cloud of cigarette
smoke
thinking
he looks curious
a frozen image
cardboard cutout
of a human being
summer winding
down green soon
will be brown sun-
light fading
streetlamp
blossoming
an odd pinkish-
orange glow
as the neighbor
drifts
off in his cloud
of thoughts
Nov 3, 2025
Nov 3, 2025 at 1:52 AM UTC