other poems

waiting for the then

2008-08-23T17:06:07Z

Rare is the center.

It's either up or down - bright euphoria or howling grief.

Autumn's chill leaves me sinking - skin-pricked and worried.

Winter is so very strong-willed.

Already one feels it.

tomorrow is a long time

2008-05-19T19:15:02Z

nothing to do with nothing, other than the fact that i felt like it...

blank

2008-05-09T22:56:00Z

The day is vacant;
Where you ought be there is only emptiness
this and the howling pain of a sharp stone driven in again and again.
I stumble, I fall, I trip.
No matter how hard I try to stay steady
I find the feat impossible,

tish tish

2008-05-06T23:11:37Z

enough of this that the otherwise

surprise! here i am where are you

when it all comes down

how can you say you did you don't you will you won't you will

new england winter, eclipse

2008-04-08T14:34:13Z

New England will leave you cold.
Winters raw, summer brief; just enough for the heart’s thaw.
One equinox slips quickly and quietly to the next
like so many ribbons about a maypole;
sun sun moon moon – eclipse.

the other | hangman

2008-03-19T12:23:30Z

You are like the ocean tree in winter.
Your suffocating, dark womb devoid of ripe fruit.
Black branches clackedy-clack your brittle gossip
Whore whore whore – I’ll slit your throat yet –

letter | fifth avenue, new york city

2008-03-18T13:17:36Z

You are near, but near enough perhaps to hear
So tell me, Would you, do you, hear my cries through such
delicate palms, a years’ long prayer, immortal afternoon
Responsive answers to your litanty, expected & promised.
Pressed palm-to-palm I will be

unsent letter no. 2, february 22nd

2008-02-24T22:41:51Z

Dear,
Today the weather is changeable – first blue, now grey.
The sky tears occassionally – sleet on the window.
The goddess has become a real ice-bitch marking
the morning the sky cried sheets of rain and I thought of you.

west season | two words

2008-02-04T21:58:32Z

Always you want to head west,
yet still the ride draws you electrically southbound, Medusa on rails.
Just this once you’d like to feel the laissez fair air of the other coast –
to be as pacific as the Pacific; specific in your desires and your wants.

blank

2008-01-31T03:11:57Z

The day is vacant;
Where you ought be there is only emptiness
this and the howling pain of a sharp stone driven in again and again.
I stumble, I fall, I trip.

stone madonna

2008-01-31T02:12:38Z

Three hours of me frozen as each student chisels stone
carving each lithe limb as I limn this world and that,
existing after all for the count.

the blessing

2008-01-31T02:11:55Z

Outside the grey day, we two nestled close,
your mouth to my mouth; you whisper
dos gefelt mir – this pleases me.
The thousandth kiss of summer – bittersweet, too brief

what vanishes

2008-01-31T02:06:37Z

Man is in-love and loves what vanishes;
1919 – Yeats.
You wanted to wrap my finger in these sad words,
engaged forever in a cracker-jack box ring.

spirit israeli | two words

2008-01-22T13:44:50Z

We two Isreali we
the chalked-honeysuckled roads that dust my boots
- all the way home.
The others, they remain homeless,

mars opposition

2007-12-28T18:10:56Z

Feathered bush with brushtail ends.
It makes the seasons alarming flashing lights that
announce only the brief exchange of gifts all the more absurd.
Not the northern star’s bright silvered guide –