spring can be dirty |
Aubade on Avenue DBrick, Brick, Brick andShingle. Asphalt, pot-holeof dense, mud-rich water, torn paper cup, floating,red plastic lid to a tylenol bottle, strands of synthetic dollhair. Iron pole, w...
Posted by on Tue, 14 Apr 2009 07:30:00 GMT |
new short poem |
City Under the StairsFake wood paneling, blue and white wallpaperin some areas; where the ceiling slopes to the floor, around the edges of the door frame. A musty smell. The urge to sneeze. A strin...
Posted by on Tue, 03 Feb 2009 06:10:00 GMT |
more homework |
We were asked to write a poem inspired by a well-known movie, so I chose The Big Heat. I focused on all the smells left out of the movie -- or the most important smells.The Big Heat Burn ointmen...
Posted by on Sat, 31 Jan 2009 11:21:00 GMT |
white wedding, (Billy Idol roar) |
The Wedding NightMy husband walks in, his hand on the back of a fox, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel, and he says. Staring at my neck with the eyes of Mary after she found the lamb. A...
Posted by on Sat, 24 Jan 2009 10:26:00 GMT |
words on photos, and words |
From a series I'm working on:And from ANOTHER series I'm working on, Called Border Songs:At the GateAt the gate, we remove our shoes.We take off our belts. We giveshort men our keys and our keysare h...
Posted by on Wed, 21 Jan 2009 14:16:00 GMT |
portrait and poem |
Didi painted a picture of me!and I wrote a poem, again. I should show you the first draft -- it's so different, it's amazing. My mind tends to wander and things get weirder and weirder.It's for a h...
Posted by on Sun, 11 Jan 2009 21:39:00 GMT |
new monkey and poem |
Waiting Room, Mercy HospitalVisiting hours are about to begin.We all smell the same -- like vinegar, coffee and rotten bananas, like sadness held for a long time. The man in the corner nods over ...
Posted by on Sat, 03 Jan 2009 19:00:00 GMT |
new cali poem |
PoolWe sprawl, belly-downnext to the blue, frying.Our pinkies touch, do nottouch. We are hipless, titless, thin as the curled rinds of tangerines littering the stairs. Our pink-spangledbik...
Posted by on Wed, 24 Dec 2008 03:23:00 GMT |
why does everything sound like Plath lately? |
Live Oak in Winterdiseased, you lean deeper, deeperinto our walls, drop dumb beetlespast our windows: slow smasherof the soft dry porch held togetherwith glue and hand-made nails, stuttering smearer o...
Posted by on Tue, 16 Dec 2008 00:08:00 GMT |
Western Poem |
Golden Gate ParkI have lost a glove. We lie on the grass; it is cold but not damp. A loud blue bird hops behind your head. Something small with fur is watching us,bright twitch. Singingmen with long...
Posted by on Wed, 10 Dec 2008 08:42:00 GMT |
