Monthly Archives: May 2015

Where is the edge of a poem?

And I’m just curious as so I might clarify
because these things sometimes aren’t clear
where is the edge of the poem?
where is the edge of the poem?
where is it’s start and where is its finish
and I must apologize, i’m referring to where your mind began to think of it
not where the words actually started of course!
because where did it start
because where did it start?
because where..did it..?
Did it begin at the end of the introduction
the last words of my letter?
did it begin at the conversation you didn’t have with your barista?
did it begin at the title of the email?
did it begin at the “check please?” at the cafĂ© that morning?
where does the reading end and where does it begin?
endings seem to be more clarified than beginnings.


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White Shadow

I stand in the open light admiring a sculpture
The way it fills the space
I knew it once, that feeling that filled space around me with an essence
It is within the water, the waves rippling to the shore
(it is everywhere in nature, I realize now)
..A purpose it has, so that it is not a barren thing
but beckoning,
and it runs deeply, an echo, a boom heard across the universe

that sculpture is a dream in motion
that walks with me like a white shadow
it is ahead of me, stretching out across the waves
(reaching up) and touching the sun.

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In The Puff Of Its Exhaler

Marjoram and bits of tempest
A spinning glowing disk twirls, in a corner, on a string
The candle blows itself out, in the wind of a thought.

I wanted to count the days, lazy, like smoke
Intertwining, meshing like those layers of the levitated dust
Coming to life.
They’ve nearly reached the critical
The mass of doubt, so perfunctory
That assembles in the dark corners of a universe
Where no one pretends

I’ve left them, the switches, the to’s and fros, which stretch and reach like glassy waves
That’s the place, when no one’s looking, for it to rise out of the glowing, ..
Of course no one’s looking, there’s no one there to look.
That’s in the sadness, again, of the ”puff” ..that is missing an exhaler, its source..
In the plain and simple destruction

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I’ve Been Away

I’ve been away
Drinking the drink… Aging the barrels

The long bookcase,

that stretches down the longest of hallways
Leaves a bruise, the flavor of the wood , seeps into the time, jumping like whisky

I’ve been under moon, the black and white, the lines, the dance of a reflection
Scurrying under foot
It runs as fast as it ever did
That time.


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