Tag Archives: #freeverse


By the constellating
All branded
In my crystal cabeza,
This soul case
So riddled with
Mnelactites and
Cracked watercolors
Of us here, and now
Us there then, too –
God it is troublesome
To forget you
Without drenching
My thoughts in snake
Oils sourced from
Underneath the earth,
Taken from Leviathan
Lying open
In wait.
I collect myselves
And shake out of
My pillar of salt:
Motherfucker I
Will look back
When I want to

Steady Creeks

I could get used to anything, and

If weeks of tedium lie in store,

I don’t mind: as long as there’s a

Schedule; and inevitably I could dodge

Surprise, arrhythmia no longer psychologically

Jostling. I’m optimistic this disappointment

Will fade just as soon as I get situated –

Gimme a second and I’ll sit down with

You to enjoy them: all the sighs we

Settled for. And the broken doors stuck

Shut with disuse. At least they’re pretty

Doors with smart brass numbers. At

Least this new neighborhood’s

Predictable as a pop song. At least

There are some activities in store

If you go check the whiteboard


The Omphalopticon

Moved by the rain
As if I were a contained rain
I must alchemize this water
Into words, what are some
Good smell words, I wonder

You are
The universe
Writing a poem to
Itself, about itself (it’s for

Moved by the fall
As if they were each
Little autumns, they must
Tell and tell, with words – with poems
All the writers (before their winters)

You are
The thunderstorm
Writing a poem now
About the rain – what else would you
Write of?

Moved by the slightest stupid
Breeze, the poets go zooming
From the beehive to write
Sonnets on the sweetness of honey
Each bee. Each sonnet.

You are
The sixth person
In Dunn county to write
About the recent tornado
The sixth

Moved by the weatherwoman
I go digging for rainy
Tankas wherever it’s been raining
Tiny haiku blooming wherever
There’s been weather

you kind of have to jiggle the handle on the gate to the real world

the treachery of an edge

that had never opened

skin before it did

feels like being cardboard

boxes being broken down

behind the steakhouse in

the rain and feels like being

someone’s last cigarette ever

(before all the saudade)

there’s a pitiful epiphany

that feels like the treachery

of her promise’s fine print

or like watching a family pray

together (and the dad’s peeking)

their table almost levitating

out of the restaurant and

out into the real world

where we’re all waiting

for our skin to push the splinter out

Abstract Places

“The mind is not a sandbox:
Its contents bear consequence
In the material world

(Time must be measured
in the mind for
dunes change
a brilliant map of suns)

“The life is the creation
Of the contents of one mind –
Thoughts are things in the real world

(Deep in the orange
distance: a string
of tiny camels
inching across
the grand dunes)

“One does not build sand castles
In the mind then not build them
Again on the ancient beach

(At the edge
of this alamogordo
your chain-link
fence made out
of mithril)