Poetry
irresistible impossibility
..And I hope you’ll forgive my cross-finger rebuke of this zombified resurrection, this craven, staggering halfling. It’s just that I still remember you as the nameless emotion that the torn-paper poets violate the stars and galaxies to find; it’s just that I still think of you as the back-alley stabbing, the warm-crimson forgiveness, the irresistible […]
paradoxical
She’s her affinity for practicality, and I’m the penniless anarchy of art.
curious things
Principles are such troubling, puzzling trifles that few understand why I might collect such curious things, as I wind one up and it marches around noisily, banging its drum.
poetry class
a class on poetry– what is there to teach? I’d wondered what is there to learn? a poem is only a moment, lovers spared from time’s bonfire or tossed– into its conflagrant hunger just to watch it burn
special kind of woman
It takes a special kind of woman To suffer my foolishness The hidden insanity As it bounces off the dark walls of my skull Like a trapped moth Throwing itself at a smudged window pane Seeking escape to the light It takes a special kind of woman To find a bit of good in me […]
love’s long shadow
I never was any good– at sharing you these new suitors swagger with shrewd bravado filling the barren round of days with flattery’s flirtatious wishes can any now be– what I’d once been might any fill the absence left behind in love’s long shadow have they been wronged and forgiven have they hurt you and […]
long ago, and far away
long ago, and not so long ago all of this seemed possible I thought to myself that I could be a writer you know, make a real go of it sometimes, on sunrise mornings even saying so– out loud tho, I’d been alone at the time
cerulean
I’ve learned when I use words like ‘cerulean’ in a poem tho I’ve long known its meaning and the nuance, intended that whomever the poem honored was not honored as they should have been but instead, displaced by ego’s tallest dread
young plebeian
I come here, of preference none speak of brilliance as a younger man as a plebeian I played an ashen guitar on a perch stone as the gray creek’s thin-froth murmur mumbled its drunken poems wide-eyed bluegills listened warm sunshine glistened with never a mention of shame as a younger man as a plebeian I […]
sweet ariel
sweet ariel, what of the rest of us? my father hasn’t yet died nor my mother nor my son I’ve still a roof overhead, for now I’ve been subjected to no particular abuse worthy– yet, I’m weary of the beatings like everyone but we haven’t much to complain of when you get right down to […]