Wednesday, April 25, 2012

You Hope To Have An Evening To Yourself Soon

The crew members of your brain
open the hatch. Moored. Well, good.
Relieved of the obligation to chug-a-tug
about in anyone else's brine-filled
waters, the amygdala convinces
the Captain to eat tater tots
and drink wine, then usurps
the Captain's post. Emotion wins!
Barber's Adagio for Strings,
a little reverie, some forgetfulness,
an affair with a superlative bar
of chocolate -- until the crew enlists
the help of the punitive moon,
those tattletale stars.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Election Year

Dandelions, in all their admiralty,
are tailored to lend. Rows of gold button
into a drunken convention on the lawn,
where later in the season their party’s
confetti is spent. Then, the parade
of bald heads, ragged ties,
a blurred agreement
between the wind and the ground.
Gardeners kneel all over
the rectangular plots of America,
boondoggled, grass-stained.

Monday, April 09, 2012


The chemistry of everyone else
stings today. It's a loss
so deep the nation
doesn't care. Stocks
rise and fall, the wind
exposes the tip of a branch
swaddled in plastic bag,
and we found nothing at all -
polished stones, ideas
drydocked. Far off,
the sounds of suction,
a warning, or proof.

Thursday, April 05, 2012


The phone, coordinator
of all things social, fans
out the jangly, old timey bells
you selected in “settings.”
You press “answer” or “decline.”

Once there was the heft of a receiver,
and you threaded a finger through
a hole that corresponded
with a number. Now you press
a button that demonstrates
the image of a button.
An idea.

Dialing was once
a stable wind up to vocal projection,
a gyroscopic momentum of growls.
You were going
somewhere, without
actually going anywhere.

Hello, are you there?

Tuesday, April 03, 2012


The sun rises,
and you wonder what's next.

The dog barks,
he wonders if the door will open.

Resistance as you corner the year.
Fill in between the blanks.
Circle the right answer.

You feel the story ending,
and you wonder what's next.
How do you turn a page
that isn't there?

Well, nausea implies revolution,
adventure. It's like a sneeze
jitterbugging behind the eyes.

Finish this essay:
Sunrise, sunrise.