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Tag Archives: poem
At dusk, above the heads of two hundred movie goers standing bored and perhaps too politely in line, two-thousand egg-shaped leaves cupping ten-thousand unbuttered white blossoms, salting in the ocean air
I am the salty sea your once amphibious daughters called home, and all my vital organs are here, in Sodom. Mother, memories, my heart. They are packed in this place, like … Continue reading
My heart, she said, it goes out to you like a pinched wick.
It seems to have started as an argument. Nothing became something, rapidly expanding to a whole laundry list of things. Separation and settlement followed. Over time things cooled. Mother got her planets; Father … Continue reading
When your mother’s belly rose, I did not leave you unmoored, but bound and docked you by umbilical cord. And when the floodgates opened, and you washed forth like a turtle, held aloft and helpless in a … Continue reading
Be just arrived. Be Midwestern dirt under Midwestern fingernails puncturing the skin of a juice-heavy orange. Be flesh of orange mist of orange before orange in sunshine of orange. Be the light softening the clay-lipped … Continue reading
beneath the sour apple tree you will knob my more of tone and fin we will bop and lie in wraps and yalp and moan your ribs i’ll finger like a harp and you … Continue reading
fat black bee with bitty bee face burrowing a blood red rose buzzing
Martin Luther King once said: If you can’t run, walk. If you can’t walk, crawl. But by all means, keep moving.
Giants and Dodgers moving west without Ebbets Field or Jackie Robinson but with Jack Kerouac and Holiday Inns rounding third at the Pacific and driving not sliding home
through feathery clouds the sun opened like the eye of an owl— and in the sudden bullet of glare the quicksilver breast of a train
my fist opened like a pill bug and in my palm a pond and i a goldfish in that pond
bobbing like a jug a naked body in the river and on its back a crow before men were here there were rivers and the round eyes of birds
Mexicali waters sour with laundry suds California aqueduct white with almond buds
I’ve been told that the shore’s scattered jellyfish are remnant tissue from the placenta of creation that millions of years ago out of its belly the ocean heaved forth the mountains and the valleys— … Continue reading
Shimmying in the Santa Barbara sun the scaffolding of a new ocean derick rising like John McCain’s Venus, Cindy her platform Shell labeled OIL.
A brown robed friar among mission flowers. A child spins before him. Sun-gleaming, dizzying the motion. Will the heavens never stop in their orbits and explosions?