Sunday, September 23, 2012


Remember that trick
when magicians tear cloths from tables, 
Only startling those crystal cups
and not screaming them to the ground?

It is nothing like that trick
Because doctors severed and tore
after startled questions,
And he no longer stands.


Beyond evergreen
seams lie starving trances, dulled
Drifting from view, veered
away, awakening, Now
tethering treaded fancies


More so than a long wait
or a long jog
or a long day
Those thoughts and memories
cluttering and scribbling 
in my head
wear me out too quickly
and too fully.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

A Funeral

Casting ink shadows on walls
is the sun
falling toward its defeat
blazing orange and hysterical.

Tugged by a noose,
it writhes
leaving an ink cast hood behind.

Bellowing down,
drowning now
The sun, assaulted as ever
and writhing like mad
As the ink-casts bob and dance like porpoises
celebrating a death