Friday, February 24, 2017


if I say
a word over
and over and
over and over
to you,
does its meaning
drift from when
it’s on the
Scrabble board
or in Webster’s?
does it change like
a tree’s shadow from
noon to dusk?

do I mean the same thing
when I say:
“I love you”
a week, a year,
fifteen years,
a life,
the first time
I told you?
are you the same
that heard
then and hears now
the “love”
in my voice,
the same you that loved
watching falling stars
as much as stars
that never moved?

the same you that
I once roused from sleep,
after saying “I love you”
only four or five times,
just to see the morning star

drift away in the sunrise?

Friday, February 17, 2017


There is a crack in the sky today,

A watch dangles through
With its second hand sweeping
The earth clockwise.

There is the crack in the blue ice
Of Evergreen Lake with water welling up,
Slowly drowning the ice
with its cold spring grip.

I noticed a crack in the moon last night,
and the Man in The Moon flinched
Then he broke in two.
He orbited his new partner in a tango,
Then kissed himself back together
Behind drifting evening clouds.

There is a crack in the world
rarely discussed, that no one chooses to visit,
Oceans fall into it thunderously,
But few volunteer to ride a barrel down its
Vast wall; no one knows how far down is down
or what lies waiting.

There are small cracks in the faces of passersby,
From which loneliness seeps,
Etching their faces like acid,
Making them walk quickly home each night
With take-out and Wheel of Fortune.
Vanna knows that melancholy
is the toss-up answer every time.

There are cracks in the sidewalk that will
Break your mother’s back if you step on them.
I know. I jumped on all of them,
every single one, with all the weight
of my twelve-year-old self,
and while her back was fine,

She did eventually die,

Though it took god damn years.

Monday, February 13, 2017


The sun talked to me today through my skin.
The pine trees made small talk about spring
with each gust of wind. 
The snow whispered to me 
with each step about 
the fleetingness of winter. 
The water laughed playing in the mud. 

The rocks were quiet, 
thinking hard.


The moon was damn big tonight
The winds were quiet.
The dog simply went to sleep.
My dreams were 
strangely filled with quiet
erotica these last few nights.
At every fork in the road,
I took the short one.
I resist compromise but do it
when necessary or expedient
The world seems altogether twisted somehow.
With the moon gone, the shadows play
tricks like a fox and I fall for the terra cotta soldiers 
spread in every direction.
Momentary panic. 
Just for a minute.