Monday, July 09, 2007

Easy Now

You lean against like always
And you shoot a look to see

Like what you once remembered
As if you can, as if you can

And wait, if you remember
What you were waiting for

You'll only count the hours
When you're heading out the door

So it's not easy, it's not easy now
It used to be so easy
All it took was something
ThatI thought I never had

Monday, June 18, 2007

It's been too long!

Pousse Cafe

He said he was
tired. His hand
shook. Hell,
the whole bottle did

and he was
unsure of the order
so important
because only

a heavy liquor
will lie below
a light one that can
just float above.

Sunday, July 23, 2006


I would rather lie
at my ease til noon
after drinking down the night,

sift all the weighty meaning long after
its downward drift
to the sea-floor,

press my face
into soft comfort
some afternoon,

push until all I would rather
is itself
a dream

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Just a brief note, here:

when one only enters poems, there's a fair record of a certain state of mind, but it is important to consider that it is of a particular genre. This is obviously unposihed, confessional and sometimes illustrative poetry. It is, for the most part, highly subjective and posted here mainly for tradition's sake.

As for the daily life of the poet,I would say that this is more of a reflection of his inner, poetical life... and that at a remove, confined to the genre.

That said, it's a sad bit of poetry for a war-torn world full of innocents. Perhaps it's a record of my own journey toward letting all of this go, learning forgiveness and perhaps a bit of all the things that are afire around me.

Or maybe it's whining. Whining, as eloquent as I can make it.

It happens quite without
our knowing:
the moment,
sliding away,

its clues:
a painful morning, for

example, and something said
beyond recall

that changed everything.

Stories about strokes

of fortune train us
to feel

happy endings coming.

A complete surprise, then,


it works out, when
nobody is happy

and nobody


which of these
moments turned

the tide,
went too far

and cannot,
must never,

be forgiven.

Thursday, July 20, 2006


Now it's a barn,
a ballroom really

the posts wait,
lit by beams of dust

She pushed me against
the wall, holding me
up entirely

On the phone the faces hang,
mouths open, talking

the shadow of me
pushes back against my shoes
no matter how fast I walk.

the night windows
spill yellow light
I step around,

the lines of some sidewalks
make deep sense
and talk constantly,

the bridge,
wider than it seems
when I walk it,

looks the same
from the river

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Who knows, for instance
that we float on bubbles of fortune,
that our only possession
is a tireless voice?

Or that when we sleep,
instead take part in an honor
guard, slipping the living
from the dead

lest they cling to all
they never wanted? Or that now
when all is suddenly

lost, what was

now had been
a great and future thing,
so being all
the more than it became?

Friday, June 30, 2006


we fight now

about things nobody
remembers exactly.

soon to be strapped
by tubes and tubes
to our rolling bed

to look past sunday and thanksgiving
and every other day,

walk, sit
it's just the same circle
smaller and smaller and smaller

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

faultless fault

the door holds the house up,
its shape hard and unchanging
though we all have walked there
back when it used to open

and slam shut, too.
such a horrible noise
to shake the glass
right out of rotten windowframe

or that was the wind, maybe
blowing right through
the door, the hall, the windows
and all of us

just the wind we said,
the wind we can't see
the wind nobody ever touches
the wind we all feel

Saturday, June 10, 2006


maybe I got
older when I saw
something. I got

older by something
I saw all of
a sudden and

maybe I might
be able to get
younger too

Saturday, May 20, 2006

don't ask

she'd been on the phone with this
old man whose wife had died
his wife
who had always taken
care of everything.

he was sitting at her old desk
with the unopened pile of medicare letters
and his cancer and his bottle.

he said he had paced
the house for a while
before calling the tiny number,
pushed keys until
he could talk to someone,
sipped the bottle time to time

and after a couple
questions, said, "excuse
me honey, but it seems
we got something in common:
neither of us knows
our ass from a hole in the ground here
or what the goddammned point is"

and introduced himself and stated his age.

he asked hers but before
she could talk he went on about
how sorry he was and that
if she remembered

it should be this:
he never should have called

and he picked up his pistol
and shot himself in the head

and she did not say hello hello
are you alright

but intstead, started to cry

and when, after crying
in office after office where
she would not say
what was wrong or what had happened
or why she was crying, she was fired
because she would not say

until later when she told everyone