Sunday, July 22, 2012


Help me write a haiku. 
I'm not good at that. Try. Just say something. 

Thursday, July 19, 2012

( )

that place where
the music stops.and all we are breathing
is sound

Monday, July 16, 2012


I was eight wounds
walking. I was pillows pressed to mouths, crying
love me, love me, love--

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Tuesday, July 10, 2012


Perhaps the trouble
is too much time spent writing
about men.

I am a turbine whirling
round and round, always planted
in the same place.

Would that these windmills
could cartwheel across green fields
to new pastures.

There I would write only
about Things That Matter
like God and Hunger

and the soft fuzz on the back of his ear. 

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Thursday, July 5, 2012

(another kind of poetry)

"And it reaffirms a grand view of a universe ruled by simple and elegant and symmetrical laws, but in which everything interesting in it, such as ourselves, is due to flaws or breaks in that symmetry."

Sunday, July 1, 2012

(overheard in the kitchen, sunday morning)

where the fuck is
the gorgonzola? (wrappers rustling.)
what the heck. (the dogs wag their tails.)