disc golf parking lot

Old jeep does doughnuts
Burning rubber in the snow
The passenger: scared?

parentheses

Who needs them, I don't
I say it and I mean it
No longer hiding

divorce poetry (II)

Yoga, then whiskey
Get out of my house, please don't
First yelling, then reach

divorce poetry

All is forgiven
Heartbreak offers the excuse
They'll say, she was sad

Monday morning

I start the day right
One hour of Bhakti flowing 
all downhill from here

menstruation

How did they do it
in the Amazon? I stand.
Bathwater turns red.

will you miss me

Do you think of me?
You haven't been a good friend.
Trying to move on

(January 12, 2013)

Blog update:

For now haikus aren't tugging at my shirtsleeves. I am free-writing, instead, at www.lightinfinityexpress.blogspot.com. Please come visit!

(I have been inspired by an old friend)

Every Day Closer
to Light. Sureness.
Angels Singing.

(America bursts from your organs (in parts))

America bursts
from your organs, red, blue


I sip spiked tea.

You wash your hair smelling
wood smoke, flesh

I swallow an apple.

You gnaw on Christ's arm.

He pours red wine.

We feast.

(yesterday I was a pillar of bees)

I shower in mold,
shaking, wracked with ivy and dust.
Pigeons feast on my toes.


*excerpted from Light Infinity

(Montreal, 2007)

Capybara, ice-cold
memories in a biodome
ducks, kissing French

(day)

I will come home. 
I will walk to buy toilet paper.
I will listen to other people sing.

(these trinkets are my love (in parts))

These trinkets are my love:
Earrings. A wide, wooden bracelet.
I picked them for you.

It's not enough.
To stand conflicted in a market stall
Deciding

To think and think about
what you like best. To give you
an approximation.

Still I ponder.
Even the gift box, blue,
with thin blue ribbon.


What I mean this to say
is that I love you. I am willing to die; 
I love you so

I have spent my morning
in a market stall,
thinking about what you love.

(her face is my face)

her face is my face
splintering
her hands cup our cheeks

(holiday season)

the bat is molding
seeds long eaten; wreaths rising
time to move on

(I taped a map to the wall)

green swaths remind me
(concentric lines drawn closer)
I've climbed mountains

(inadequate)

Can this poem
reflect the waters? Red balloon
survives the storm

(love poem #3)

I love you close,
noses touching. Hand to cheek. 
You go; faith eludes me

(stick)

what could go wrong
with braids in my hair, with trains,
with our elbows touching