Tuesday, December 22, 2020


 i take the shrinking hours

i watch them drop below

the horizon

                    that is really just a wooden fence

i forget where they have been

promising the lie that ill remember them


Monday, December 21, 2020

a return to unease

the last time
backlight red
drifting into blue
through the window
watching eyes go blank

become reflections in the snow

night like before
seems to shiver like 

the sun barely down

there's no switch to

the last time
to make sense of 
where the cloud goes

when it's gone

Monday, August 3, 2020


marked automatically;

    life passing within four walls
a leaky faucet of time

the overgrowth of yard
before the window

effortless and green

a million sown fields of pokeweed
glowing pink for a moment
in the stillborn sunrise

it's partly cloudy today
I am superimposed over this reality

there is rain in every imaginary forecast

time is a summer storm
before the window pane

the blackberries of july will become the winter's snow 
before I am gone

Saturday, June 6, 2020

never future

It was rather raw.
    the bloody spot.     leaking valves.
Rubber not conducive to cleaning up the spill
only tongues of the willing will suffice.
Whether they be brought to heel or made to grovel
armor can only weigh down so much.
    luckily with no conscience to break.
only meat.     Cold deathless meat.    raw meat
fit snuggly into containment units
set with bullets for mortar.     burned out sockets.       salted and cured of sentimental value.  without eyes to see inward
the deathlike void reaches out
pulling itself inside.  
marked with no decision.  Taking every reward. 
Made of nothing concrete. 
Only violent. Only violence. Only now and then.

Friday, June 5, 2020

No new hires

drawing a crooked line to

                          this current dream

the face of nondescript mall
escalator to rolls

                            the floor i meet is not
the one

i haven't been making the walls
of the memory

the vision is not waiting here for my return

only confusion of time

a lost place         a wretched belief


music   played like end credits
          eight years 

ago         reminded of cracked pavement
broad street

Newark    caramelized peanuts

     searching for 50c 

to make the down

to continue to the river's edge
 to soak my brain away in the stream

Wednesday, May 27, 2020


barbs dig into my leg

they make a funny sound when i walk,      no,
an interesting sound

                                  enough so that i won't
remove them   
                      enough so that they'll slowly pierce

deeper into the skin

                                 buried there & 
                                                      enough so that
when i recall their presence

i'll allow them to feed on my flesh

consuming my life     leaving my memory

for dead.

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

another one about mud

there might be people
still using it   
                     oh, nevermind
the rubber mat
over the doorstep

it's only there to cultivate
the mud
              that has no stench
only color
the color of decayed potential

a steady drain on battery life
the slow decline
                           of bolt and latch
sink of boot and shoe
never to meet what is

window pane

your starling

dressed in black     jumps off the heavy wall

it doesn't bother to open its

wings    surrounded by the buzz of

wasp and termite     Im the only one that watches

her fall

Thursday, April 9, 2020


in 2011 from the foggy shell
      eyes behind cages of tempered glass
glared out through ragged hair

time is a passing thing
                                     life is not

there was nothing left unsaid

I think of you saying goodbye
resting on my lap

chin against chin

I hope you know
I never wanted

                          to go

Monday, April 6, 2020


in real time
I am watching a fence fall

it will take years
now there is less snow
the wind will pick up
the rain will wither

the cords tying it
to a sinking dead limb
grown on sinking dead roots
will not hold

there will be an end
an inevitable upheaval

the gates will flood
and the ivy will pour through
the forest will overtake
the carcass
the stakes will mold

the sky will be blue

Friday, March 27, 2020


Les Boutons D'or

Vines grow up the impression of walls
stucco white and twinkling with beads of light
your eyes of stars and blackest sky kiss the night
the arc of time and the old house of dew alive
your lips reflecting the blossom of endless white bulbs
the trees have been here for hundreds of years
but you and I are here tonight an ocean and see away
from home     brush strokes paint the story of your smile
a memory of many pasts, the canvas over my heart

Thursday, March 26, 2020


the Vegetable Alibi

It looked like my rucksack
     in an alleyway
                             but in Gap, France
mildewed green canvas
   hand sewn patches

it slouched against a medieval stonewall

two Provencal cops hitch up their
heavy lead pants
                            interrogating the
owner of the bag about a head of lettuce
in his hands
                    how could he be eating such
valuable produce?
                              was it stolen?
your tattoos were backed by the Cote dAzur

they were here to give you
a hard time     sadly

your lettuce had an alibi
the market next door vouched for your

the cops tugged on their bullet proof
detective skill, 'don't be here when we get back,'

they said,

you pulled sadly at your beard
to the rhythm of their footsteps     hiked
bag onto shoulder
its empty stomach sagging--

    c'est bon c'est bon c'est bon 

--to forage for another stretch of pavement
         in another sunless alley
in this decayed



the Med. at noon

After eating sardines
at a cafe along the beach--
     the salty breath
of the sea
the salty fish scales
     fish bones
old world bones float on

--dip into
gentle rolling waves
a sea somewhat thicker and heavy
after lunch
                  lurching blue waves
saltier than I would have



What of me is part of this old world?
beside me in the car
                                 my wife
she is growing
    inside her
beside me
                 my son is growing

there is not a piece of me here
these mountains are strangers
they have lost me long ago

my ancestors
divorced you

I go forward through your passes
     they are like scarred tombs
 crossing the Alps I see
I am something new

even with your stony ancient glare
you could not know

Some poems from France I

Taking a shit

the first thing I did
as an

American in

Tuesday, March 24, 2020


I have been sick
for over a week

the news tells me I have coronavirus

CoviD-19 it talks to me
all hours of the day

under order
I am home watching it talk

24 hours a day     I have congestion
that has left my throat and
found its way into
my nasal cavity

MSNBC has me waiting
for chest pain with every cough

when the narrative find me
I will be ready

I have been sick
for over a week

best case scenario
I will be able to blog
about my quarantine
in the new york times

Friday, March 20, 2020


          there is no where to go

the clouds reflect our prison
like crumbled
                       aluminum foil

we cannot chew through
this metallic fog
                           the sparks
make lightning of our
         that chase the squirrels
         hidden beneath the earth
the seed is more important
than the disease
                           noW yellow
daffodils droop over rotted
            coughing into graves
of potted earth
                         there is a distance
unassailable in our future

for the spring cannot
out wait the

Tuesday, February 25, 2020


never moving backward;

you run away from me with
this reckless smile
that sometimes I think is
the saddest beautiful smile because
there's something so fleeting
in watching it so spontaneously
and genuinely react and change
tongue pressed against teeth
the hissing sound of joy
of giggled air explosion
into uncontrolled laughter
and squeals

no moment frozen in memory
just continual movement forward
time's effort to leave me behind and
you won't even realize it
until you're old like me and you
see how like a mushroom I can
only be the stem and you looking
out from the bulb won't see
I've atrophied and pushed you
into the future where beneath
the shadows I watched you
grow and

                 even now the years have
begun piling up and soon you will
not remember what it was like to be
held and I'll always have that memory
like a phantom pain watching you walk
so lovely on your own but recalling
how it was in those beautiful days when
you needed me and raised your arms
to call for my embrace and breathed
the slightest sign of relief when your
head rested on my shoulder
and I could whisper in your ear
that daddy loves you

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Lunar new year

they were going to face the great goddess
to the sound of snapping mahjong chips

three generations sleep in line in
adjacent room

it was the new year

fireworks cracked 9 floors below
becoming old words spoken in the future

ancient thrusters roared to subtitled

neil armstrong placed one foot gently
on the surface of the moon


across the bay
dressed in fluorescent light
a betelnut girl waits in the late
afternoon sun to plant red lips
on a fisherman collecting
seaweed in the hazy morning
of the opposite shore


one wheel leans off curb
parked at angle

beside rice paddy field

footsteps depress through mud

in the distance foggy clouds slip off tree-
topped mountains to outline

a mosquito banging its head against

the road ahead is closed to flood

Wednesday, January 15, 2020


We talked for many years. I moved from a room into a room that became another room. The last room. I was until then not accompanied by many voices. Now I was alone. The bodies were still there. They were still aging but they made no sound. I tried to groan. The empty space around me filled with furniture and mirrors. The room adjacent had opened. From it came the light. I entered backward into my former self. I had many more years to go. I smiled like i was the same. I pulled down the windowless shades. I laughed at the smooth beige walls. We talked again for many years. We buried the house without touching ourselves. We had never reached the point.


arc ack
the drag out back
wouldn;t you know
it; clean
like an alleyway
from above only
the slightest hint of
cracks if you
focus right on the
periphery no bottle
is broken
underfoot or pressed
to mouth
they're all perfect
gourd shaped
nature growing from a
concrete schism like a yard
sale;  this alone
does not prove the version
seen is fake just RELATED to
other static commas
coughed out onto that field
between sidewalk and street
a NATURE of problems
growing trash
hack watered down
with acid rain

Thursday, January 2, 2020

dream of a dream

this event is taking place
in a spasm of time     unlike
a dream    i can walk up stairs
without leaning against
a wall      feeling the cold wet
paint against my cheek    carrying
a son to bed    there's a man with a
large feline head waiting in
shadow     this place is carved
out of a nook in my memory
i have been there daily
but here it is never the same
it is unnerving    without
footing     purchase    relief
concrete    there is a realness
to it that is grating    like words
whispered in the dark    failure
fatherhood     around each turn
the hallway creaks    yawns
air heavy and black felt-like
and suffocating     heat
regrettable death