Sunday, March 27, 2011

Pop

The first time she heard his voice
a bubble of champagne
caught in her throat like news of death

blooming darkly through the wire it fell
visceral as a bat’s night wings
sudden against sky

every string appeared to play
bass collapsed in fragments
of pitch and timbre

she curled into its character
no longer aware of street noise
in temporary search of destination.

A Bell Tower Speaks


Sky interrupted
birds fly from tiny chipped spaces
hollow bones turn flute
notes high and breathy
below the dirty snow melts
into dirtier puddles
a small boy jumps –

his red rubber boots
distort reflections
birds turn pinwheels

on the street corners
familiar curbs reveal their crumble
as winter erodes into liquid spring
a stranger smiles at nothing in particular
she grins too, orange coat open
as if to welcome anything other
than last year’s white

Sunday, March 20, 2011

There is Nothing New Under the Kitchen Sink

Distracted, she stirs the kitchen with a spoon

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Far, Far Away

She sat cross-legged
on the moon
waiting for answers

Moon stayed silent
ladled stars
into galaxies