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TOODLE-OO
So, Bly, you have finallygone and joined the parade,holding out the longest as thoughthat was a badge you couldsomehow carry out with you. Take consolation that youbested Ginsberg and Corsoand even outlasted Ferlinghetti,though he was giving youa run for your money. And Plath, well shewas the first, far too youngeveryone said, but now Iam left…
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INTO THE BRUSH
I have carefully peeledback the skin of a hundred snakesand left their twisted formscurled around mesquiteas so many skirts. Canadia geesefollow carefully worn pathsacross an October skyundeterred by storm cloudsgiving chase from the west.A wolf wanders downfrom the tree line to the edgeof the highway. She can tastethe approach of winter,bitter on her tongue, her…
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BLINDNESS
Our problem is one of blindness.We are constantly seekingfor that which we have, thatwhich have no need of, thatwhich we think we needbut cannot be certain. If we limited our blindnessto things life would besimpler, but our blindnesscarries over to our searchfor enlightenment, for redemption,for absolution, and wefail to realize that we haveall of that…
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NAMENCLATURE
I have goneby many names,some chosen,some inherited,some thrown at mein anger,in scorn,in friendship. Names addnothing to whoI am, whoI choose to be,who I am seento be by the thosewho throw aroundnames as ifthey were magicalincantations, elixirswith great powerthat fallat my feetlike shatteredicicles of mynot caring.
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BASO’S WHITE AND BLACK
I know you havea single question for whichan answer will enlighten you.Neither Baso, Chizo nor Kaiare here so you are asking me. The answer is simple:cover your ears tightlyand listen while I speakwith closed mouth,watch my feet dancein joy as they do not move.If the answer is not apparent,ask Chizo, Baso and Kaito speak from…
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R.I.P.
We are planning the funeralfor Roe today, eulogiesfully ready, for we are certainthe death was slow and painfuland now all we can do is mourn. Some we know will not attend,Brown out of fear, knowingthe eventual consequencesof this loss, Miranda becausehe is already marked, houndedby those in power, an easy mark. Sullivan may be there,…
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IF ONLY
If there were truly justiceat least of the poetic sortperhaps Van Gogh couldhave been born 75 yearsearlier, and in Viennanot Holland, so that whenhe decided to be ridof an ear he could haveoffered it to Beethovenneither of his workingin his later years. Andif a poet could arrangetime travel using his licensethen he could just as…
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LAMBERT FIELD
The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…
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THEN
A bicyclered Schwinnrust encirclingstem andheadset. Baseball cardsclippedto frameengagingturning spokesimagined motorspeeding downbuckling sidewalk. Skinned kneesbloody,wheel rimslightly bent,wishing suddenlyfor winter.
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ON THE PRECIPICE
He never imagined for a momentthat he would be here, hereof all places, on the precipiceof an abyss the likes of whichhe only visited in nightmares. And he knew, when he lookedback he knew he would seethe pack of Abyssinians headingfor him, and that was anothernightmare given his cat allergyand his intense Ailurophobia. So there…
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an old writer and his words 