while reading The Gift by Lewis Hyde |
&
There are a thousand generations of poets inside me
& these words evolve between us
& every one of our quivering voices
are echoing screams set against a wall of drums.
Sometimes, like a... Posted by on Sun, 23 Nov 2008 08:18:00 GMT |
after Central Park 10/18/08 |
Hide & Seek
There is something so wise
inside this young girl's voice
between the volume of the single cello.
Something shaping the wind,
pouring caskets-full of color
into the mould of every wor... Posted by on Tue, 04 Nov 2008 17:46:00 GMT |
a new one |
The Burial
I am no longer
who I am
they've stolen my identity
because I've lacked devotion
All the roots are torn
& now I'm on the run from the law
When I was young I only wanted to grow
into an ... Posted by on Fri, 18 Apr 2008 18:13:00 GMT |
an old one |
What There Is
There is no djembe where one should be.
There is no red kite in the blue sky up over
the trees. There is no weather at all
this day. There is no book to show
for so much time gone... Posted by on Fri, 18 Apr 2008 17:54:00 GMT |
No one reads these anyway... |
Poem Written in the Snow My violent heart, my cavernous yawn, my digital soul steeped in high philosophy remains anonymous & small & all my fathers know now their own mortality. The... Posted by on Thu, 21 Feb 2008 11:48:00 GMT |
Two Piles Scattering |
She told me my poetry was decent
but she didn't want to feel like she was
"reading someone's goddam diary, you know?"
So I took this one page & tried to publish it
for conflicting reasons. I ha... Posted by on Tue, 11 Dec 2007 02:32:00 GMT |
elsewhere... |
Posted by on Tue, 20 Nov 2007 00:23:00 GMT |
Thoughts had while opening the front door |
I want to die laughing.
Die without guilt.
Without awareness of falling;
all chemicals
& laughter.
I want to live laughing
& weightless;
the birds prove
it's possible.
O, I love the mornings... Posted by on Sun, 09 Sep 2007 11:07:00 GMT |
feeling fresh & infinite |
for years my friends & I have been generating these incredible verses. we share them when we meet, on paper napkins at bars, while sharing a hookah & a bottle of wine, & thru emails w... Posted by on Sun, 09 Sep 2007 10:54:00 GMT |
Prayer |
Time itself is gathering speed.
Time in general,
beyond the breadth
of synapse.
Cosmic distance
is drenched with nothing
& the sun still beats.
Her pulse
tethered & galloping.
So where is lov... Posted by on Sun, 09 Sep 2007 10:53:00 GMT |