Sunday, February 12, 2017


A riot of waves -
her hair

Thursday, September 15, 2016

September 15


Went to Bob's Furniture
to buy my brain a sofa.


The Moon swallows a tide
while I sip a can of soda.


Uranus, today,
was our yoga instructor.


Malaria contracted me one day
while I was eating a mango.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016



Walked excitedly to the arboretum
where a Rose of Sharon stopped me at the door –
asked, What the fuck do you want, son?

Tendrils of the pea plant say
Hug me, Hug me, Hug me

Monday, September 12, 2016

Monday Twos


Scanned carefully through a loaf of bread,
inspected its ears, neck, nose, skin,
then picked the perfect slice, like I would
the one pet, from the nearby adoption center.

Say good-bye to each exiting breath
like a daughter driving off to college.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Annual Exam

Once a year, a visit
to the doctor, for me
to hear the secrets
my blood already knows.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Saturday Rain

Rain falls outside in shreds
like egg noodles.

September Sunflowers

Flowers seem to burst
out of the plant's fuzzy armpits.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Little Things

I have no control over most things in life –
deaths, jobs, seasons, the way
cancer comes, then purrs in the colon. But what I do
have control over, I take seriously, practice concern:
whether to make the bed each morning after breakfast,
whether to fold the sheets.

Two Thoughts


If we base the modes of birth
and death on doctrines
of the Karmic theory, I am all but left
to wonder what a fly must have done wrongly
to deserve an end –drowned,
in my bathroom’s white toilet-bowl.
What is pollen
but a flower's ejaculate? 

Sunday, September 4, 2016

Eye Examination

Not long after I would sit, as instructed, on
the stool, part open my eyes for her to examine,
with a laser’s red fingertip, what lies within –
I would flinch, then writhe, knowing she
had discovered secrets, pieces of thoughts, anonymous
notes, that reside in the dark, cluttered chambers of me.
I would feel guilt, exposed, surrounded with shame,
while she would know to say, here, please, drink this glass of water. 

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Baby Rain

Possessive –the way, you
held on to the umbrella handle
during the afternoon’s sudden downpour –
your palms curled into pleats, moist,
the warm ecology of your breath, above your head
a makeshift roof of blue nylon taffeta on which
rain settled down, like sweat.  


The trees have mostly stayed,
but their leaves have bent with age, many
dislocated, even –green,
to yellow, to paling red –while I
have remained fixated on the thought
that these trees, my trees, outside
the window frame, look like rows
of traffic lights –programmed
to make the color change, from Summer’s
Go, to Winter’s low, Falling to a Stop.   

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Beauty Shop

The signage on the foreground makes
a hefty promise of discount –so we enter
the beauty store, shuffling in
to an extensive album of soaps, lotions, fragrances.
Inside, the walls are papered peach. Light
slopes in, forms puddles on the zigzag of tiles,
cleaned every hour to restore its glossy lips
of ceramic. Meanwhile, a corner sweetens with
bits of molten sugar scrubs. And the sink froths
with cleansers milked from wild seaberries. I take my time, read
aloud the product labels while you spritz along your neck,
honeysuckle extracts, jojoba hearts, muddled sprigs
of lavender. And it takes just a moment to realize,
within this cube of plush confine, that all but one
are welcome here –age, the tick of time,
the climb of years, their ultimate, all-consuming fears.  

Monday, August 29, 2016

Late August

We sat out on the terrace, feeling, slowly,
the Summer afternoon cool into evening –
the sun, slipping away, noticing then,
the sky, you had thought looked just like cotton candy.
We chatted about the Mexican sunflowers;
how the harsh Winter would kill them all,
make brittle their leaves, chew away
the buds that had failed to thrive.

And there was silence afterward – disallowing
time for you to notice how the conversation
had left me shifty. You had held my hand, then,
in a tighter grip, as we waited
for the meatloaf, inside the oven,
to finish its bake, allowing ourselves, in the while,
even if for a few quiet minutes, to just be
in each other’s company.