Friday, April 22, 2011


I wish to die a slow death riddled
with something incurable -
that you would die for anyway. 
I don’t want to go unknowingly
in my sleep
or fiercely combust in a blaze of glory. 
I’d prefer to suffer
home to a number of infirmities
steeped in awareness
of my own tragic flaws.
I could lose my mother tongue
my ability to smell fries and vinegar
or a fresh summer rain on the fur
of spring violets. 
I might become a simple blank stare
where the trees once met the sky. 
Clouds would not matter
or the earthworm turn of seasons
save for the layers
I might need to assume. 
I wouldn’t mind keeping
some bodily functions
as in the basics;
peeing, drinking
knowing when to love
and when  the burner
should be turned to off.
My heart I’d also like to keep
close to my chest -
like a house of cards
so close to collapse that
all it would take
would be a puff of breath
or a  ghost of a hiccup.
I’d rather die a slow death riddled
with something incurable -
your afterimage still burning.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Good Luck Jonathan!

I was ill and could not attend, but check it out:

I'm betting against the odds.


They creak and sway, ancient tuned 
forks pitched to the language 
the steel of the track 

oblivious to crooked stones 
in parallel graveyards 
or the choke of wildflowers 

between live rails 
signals play witness 
to rail-riding tramps 

stoic conductors 
guardians of velocity   
they orchestrate commands 

observe the curved moon 
turned like a Grandmother’s hip 
bent to reap and sew 

measure the length of ghosts 
by the weight of a whistle 
as a slice of sun sets over iron backs 

we stand - watch the signals spin 
very much in awe 
of what just blew by

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Give Me Something Beautiful

Eve needed to feel the pen
heavy in her hand so full of 

everything forbidden has always been
fair game