Friday, March 30, 2018

The Damned

The damned are many, yet we assume
That some will find their way.
That some of us from peace
Have not yet strayed.
That despite the evidence,
Love will find a way.

Isn't this world an ever-renewing array?
Doesn't the presence of flowers preclude decay?

Friday, March 2, 2018

The Dungeness Deposit

I pluck a rock from the mountains,
And cast it to earth in the city, across the bay.
Will it matter much to either place?

My intuition says the rock requires mourning.
Oh ancient emblem of gradual entropy!
More likely it is me who grasps for meaning:
Projecting, imposing, imagining tragedy.

Bears upturn suburban garbage cans,
Bottles clutter the sides of wilderness trails.
Lines and borders tend to bleed together.
Fences, laws, and tariffs tend to fail.



Monday, January 1, 2018

Riding Seaward on the Waves

In the humid atmosphere,
Braids fray quickly.
Pricks of sweat
Burst from tender skin.
Sands, composed
Of tiny eyes of coral,
Cling to clothing.
Sips of water soak from within.

Waves spit spray that floats
With eerie languor.
Smears of haze
Curdle into focus through a squint.
The sand is lava, coral, abalone,
Boulders to an atom.
Shells and flint.










Friday, October 13, 2017

November 1856

In the midst of Moby-Dick,
Melville went to Hawthorne for a passage.
Asked him nothing, in the way
A friend asks everything.
Confessed a shredding of the stuff
that binds one’s faith.
The parlor pleasantries,
The subsumed ache.

They walked among the dunes,
Apart and together.
Melville spilled laments like rhapsody.
Fingers curled as if around a pencil,
Sand spread out like stars between his feet.

That day his kin denied the hand he offered,
So he unmoored himself: the castaway,
Anchored to a desk at Ellis Island,
Tossed by time like Pip by waves at sea.
There really is such thing as too much knowledge.
Dread can warm the soul like ecstasy.




Tuesday, August 15, 2017

A Brand

Find a working flame and heat the metal.
Brand yourself when it is sufficiently hot.
Carve some living flesh into a knot.

Once the searing is done, the pain will settle.
That silhouette of flesh will never rot.
Your brand will live forever in that spot.


Using user-friendly words and cartoon pictures,
And in the name of progress, brand yourself.
Online traction is good for your avatar's health.

Now you can download all of the scriptures.
Progress never ceases - walk towards the light.
Eternities spool in the bellies of satellites.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Under the Ridge

Our Lady of the lake, the valley,
Lady of rotting trees.
Pine needles in cobwebs
Are weathervanes, spinning me.  

Our Lady of father-son camping,
Make tomorrow as good as I know it will be.
We will name the unnamed lake.
Hide this ridge for history.

Our Lady of heather hillsides,
Lady of ridges of aching green,
Fill the old campsites with grass,  
Grow moss among the scree.

Our Lady of the snowmelt,
You freeze, you drip, you feed.
A trickle, a stream, a river –
We cross it, and are free.  

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Apoem

A flaccid supposition -
no instructions were given.
There is no bough that cannot hold
the whole of nuclear fission.

A hunch, she had, a vision
of the suit man's truculent mission.
That supple bough is bending
into oblivion.

Friday, April 20, 2012

"Half Drowned Hope"


I’m bearing your grief, dear acquaintance -
Exhaustion comes so easily,
Your tired eyes make sense to me.
Taking your cues from the soaps,
You tried to hide the rope. 

Friday, March 2, 2012

"Bloo Berries"

The apples from the apple crisp
are ears for mister potato-head,
who will try to mislead you:
He's really a melon.
His little lips are cherries,
His eyes are halved kiwi runts.

He has a friend named Coconut,
who really is one,
brown and shaggy,
hollow fleshy noggin.
His soft blue eyes
are ripe blueberries.

Mister potato-head often blushes,
Strawberry nose,
Apple crisp ears.
Coconut kept his friend's melon secret
For a number of years.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

"Basketball"

Ideally, style becomes substance,
A ballet that revolves on the rim.
Triumph is only relative,
Hardwood equilibrium.

Loose limbs translate motion
Into superstitious spin,
Just past outstretched fingers,
Two points. Retreat and square your chin.