At first there was only dark
woodwork
And floors
There were missing light bulbs
And painted light switches
There was a flaking bathtub
There was nowhere to sit
At first there were only leaves on the porch
And dust on the windows.
There were missing drawers
There was only this and more
And then there were some plants
In plastic pots
And a sun through open shutters
And finches and cats in the alley
There were rag rugs
And polished bits of trees
And two fish swam lazy in their bowls
And then
There was me
Or someone very much like me
And it was good
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 10:58 PM UTC
I know it is
Spring again
When my
Curtains
Breath
****** in
Pushed out
Over again
And gentle
Sounds
Of the city
Are louder
And then
Thunder
Rain
Pushed out
****** In
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 8:11 PM UTC
Tonight I am writing a poem about waking up tomorrow
To see if my car had been re-ticketed for expired plates
To see if the traffic will, like the weather,
Be unusually temperate for this time of year
To see if there is broken glass in the parking lot
Spray paint tags on our shop door
Tonight I am writing a poem about waking up tomorrow
To see if the leaves are falling
If the sky is still, like the people
Hanging onto fall
To see the skyline, the cloud front over the water
I am writing a poem tonight
So that I can wake up tomorrow
And remember to remember
To love it all
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
Today I will not
Build any furniture
I will not paint any murals
I will not lathe wet wood
Or pound out steel
I will not sand or glue or clamp
Or sew or surge or hand tuft
I will not see a show tonight
I will not go to a museum
I will not even read
But I will
Will myself
To write these things
I will not do
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
I was born to the month of the
Roaring lamb, or the woolen lion
Depending on which way you turned your head
3:42 p.m.
Like somehow that time, my placement
On the clock face
Was the most notable bookmark
I do not know how the weather was
Behaving, raining or snowing
Depending on the mood
But I know the weak March sun was shinning
In on my labored mother
Past the slight warmth of noon
Before the obtuse chill of dusk
I came into the world balanced on that sun
Pale spring
Aged winter
The lion to my left
The lamb to my right
Because I came head first
The day I was born
I landed on top of the water
And was captured in the tension there
Between two things
Balanced on my sun
Marching forward
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 7:59 PM UTC
The pounding of the drum
was sheets of white paper
Each clap falling to the floor
Settling slowly
Like geese alight to water
We were there for this landing
Nosily, gracefully
The geese were
Ourselves
The drumming of the drum
Was a shell around us all
And we all spiraled in
Till the casements of the
windows shook
Till throughout the basement
And up the stairs
Was the sound
Lifted up again
Like the geese
And the paper pushers
And the polished
thrumming,
drumming,
humming
of
our
hearts
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
I’ve seen colors melt, colors mold over, colors who stick to the sides of
Other colors
I’ve seen colors which soak to the quick of wood and skin, ones that spill over
Or dry like deserts
I’ve seen colors that congeal like the living, I’ve seen the same ones mixed to death
I’ve seen colors pool, colors rust and colors boil
I’ve seen colors that don’t read maps
Colors that overrun, overturn, overlove their neighbors
And ones that play well in sand
I’ve seen colors that drink cocktails, drink water, drink blood
Together
Colors that get bored, colors that get sexed
I’ve seen colors ripped from the earth
Seen them ghost to other places
I’ve seen colors give up, every time, waiting for air, for shelter,
For Godot
I’ve seen colors grow cold like science
Grow loud like a flag unfurling
Grow up, move out, move on
I’ve seen colors stuck in between things
These same colors fill empty spaces
Fill vision, fill cups of coffee
I’ve seen colors tell white lies
They aren’t white
They are happy
And they aren’t here for us
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
I would like to imagine that you and I are each a nucleus
And somewhere else, miles away
The rest of us is spinning
On some course with unimaginable science and math
Involved
And that somewhere, miles from both of us
Those flying terrifying parts found each other
And held hands
And together we made something more complex
That involved diagrams with little lines and letters
I would again like to imagine
That I am sitting in my center
Miles from that chaos
And that I can’t feel the rest of me, spinning
And complex
That I can’t feel that part of you that is attached to me
And I can’t feel when that bond breaks
And again we are something less then we used to be
Yes, I would like to imagine that.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
There was the refinery in the ice desert of Wyoming
Past the mountains, at 3 in the morning
Lit up in the night like it was in love
And so was I
There were the oil rigs lined up in rows
Out on the smooth stone of ocean
And we pointed out to them like they
Were our light houses
Like we were boats
Like we needed something to guide us home
And in between here and there
Were semi trucks
With steel quilted sides
And lights like strange underwater fish
Attracting this to that
Attracting me to you
And there were all those times
When you were my flame
In the deep cold
When you were my foundation
Under the immensity of water
When you were my drive
Through all of these other things
And we still point at each other, over a distance
Like you or I is a light
Like you or I is still in love
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
Tonight in yoga
While we take corpse pose
And are supposed to empty our bodies and minds
The teacher says:
Listen to the tide of your breath
I think of the beach
The color of mist
And the time I found a
Dead sea otter
As long as myself
And still beautiful
When I open my eyes the walls
Are saffron
And the ceiling is burnt orange
I think of the monks
In the art museum
Who swept their hands
Through a sand medallion
And then released the remains
Into a lake with lilly pads
And when I look out the screen door
I see a racoon, climbing down
After plundering eggs
And I think of the cabin
Where the racoons would eat
The dog food at night
And my brother and I
In footed pajamas
Would hold flashlights and watch them
And as we close shavasana
And sit up
I realize I am the least empty
The least dead
The most beautiful corpse
Apr 14, 2010
Apr 14, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC