Saturday, December 31, 2016

The Noise In My Head

I hate your noise in my head
the way you hated the noises
in yours.

Your power and your weakness
left me struggling for breath
in clear air.

Your darkness gathers in corners
under an old lampshade and speaks
with a knife edge.

Electric shock made nothing new
your will broke in waves
and we into silvered shards.

Your grim song wove moonlight
then fire across time
and a floor empty of dance.

I hate your ideal face
with its bullet hole
reflected in polaroid forests.

Friday, December 30, 2016

A Sharp Cry

A sharp cry,

a dry shout
flies into my ear

kitchen frustration

a vegetable resisting
molecular separation

a dead creature’s
unwilling to part
from bone

perhaps that sound
springs from other action

an attempt
more spectacular

like suicide

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Night Lights

Navigation lights
bleed into river currents
watching the eye
as it passes
tunnels of bridges
holding levees apart
a thread of roads
tying islands
of quiet
under the moon
bring reflection 

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

The Problem With Reincarnation


         There was a siphon here
                  filled with soda
                           a moment ago,

                                    now it’s a can.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

The Rarity of Things

The rarity of things
         is understood as common
among hearts.
         There is always more sky than bird
such vastness makes their coupling
Remember there will be terrifying beasts
         set to devour your desire
along an invisible path
         you travel
to finally touch
         your heart’s desire.

Monday, December 26, 2016


Dry, scentless,
this former blossom
remains standing.
No breeze to stir
petal from stem.

this quiet fate
dressed in vague shadow
persists in solitude
beneath serene air
and an immobile sun.

Sunday, December 25, 2016

With Waking and Sleeping

teeth filed
and a sharpened talon
rip skin away
to tear pieces from the abdomen
bits of this and that
searching for the organ
in a far away place

the superficial systematically
punctured, looses a river
in which undistinguished moments
float amidst an abatis
of clicking time and aimless days.

an irrhythmic tap on arms
wound with broken lights
flashing rainbow hues,
celebrating endless war,
declared and undeclared Nativities
endowing useless treasure
with caveats serving as beacons,
tocsins against sleep,
to the already sleepless.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Dateline Sundays

With yesterday’s tomorrows
astride the dateline
stands a rumor in ether space
between eternal Sundays
this breath exists,
a “normal” day
or span of days
termed Not Eternal Sunday.
How can this be?
asks each god.
Such departure from reality
would be impossible
divine sophists muse
for such moments
would be not being.
divine wags remark
these “normal days”
should be marked on calendars
for convenience
and persistence of memory,
“This is not Eternal Sunday”
then others, more clever,
would add
“Do not behave as if Rapture
is complete.”

Friday, December 23, 2016

This Isn't About Cat Feet

When I see fog moving inland
         over Pedro Point, a hill
south of Rockaway Beach,
         reaching misty vines
through eucalyptus leaves
         to blanket that wealth
climbing up slope,
         I think of immigrants,
not from northern Europe.

An Asian woman with bleached hair,
         using a pedestrian crosswalk
in front of my car glares
         at me, at my camera,
focused on that fog,
         but captures my image
in disfigured perception.