Friday, June 29, 2012

Woman with glass of wine

It's dusk,
people walk by immersed in conversation,
talking on their cell phone.
they watch, the woman with her glass of wine,
her dog, his face between his front paws.
he has seen it all after all.
there is no need to bark
or talk in the dusk, no point
in disturbing the
peace between
each group

Thursday, June 28, 2012

I read

on the plane,
page 27 the doctor noted that children are not afraid to die
he holds the old in his arms, they are so afraid, they tremble,
the young go as freely as they arrived
I paused, perhaps it is best to die

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Atomic Oxygen

it doesn't care if it's hypersonic,
pac-manning its way along surfaces,
through crannies and labyrinths,
into crevices
we can't even see.
translational, vibrational, rotational
irreleventational I said to
the man sitting next to me
dressed in grey hair and
sunken eyes.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

24: A birthday

not my favorite TV trash series
not the number of months in a couple of years
not the year we got engaged
and were rising stars and then falling.
it's the number of candles on a cake,
freckles sprinkled across a nose,
friends who wished you a happy birthday
and more, curls which blow in the wind,
strangers who tell you you're beautiful,
conferences you'll attend, questions you'll
ask that stump them.
it's a quarter century minus one,
just as I am minus one on your birthday,
minus you.
I will send you twenty-four hugs over
the line.
Happy Birthday, Karen.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Preparing for a conference of white, men carrying umbrellas whipped by the wind. Tampa, Florida

Friday, June 22, 2012


last day of week
last shred of brain function
last hour of last day of last brain function
not even
a shred
of energy
for fun.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

on solving career dilemmas over fondue and wine

why not
solve it over wine and cheese, there are no better combinations
after all, white, rose, cabernet, merlot, cheddar, gruyere, emmental,
whatever, the wine loosens the creative juices, the cheese fortifies them
and so we sit and solve them, the problems that always come up
if not in reality, at least in fantasy, that works
does it not

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

flute duets

he follows
she can't count
he plays a B flat
instead of a B sharp
dissonance followed by

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Charge Numbers

I hate them, the niggling of an hour here, an hour there
and someone sits down to suck your brain dry with
no charge number.
how silly it is, thank you GAO and all the rest of them
that sit on overhead numbers, no worries, no problem,
someone else will sweat it.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Lacrosse players

they played lacrosse on a field made of shredded tires,
in the sun, the black absorbed hot sun only to
shimmer its heat up towards faces hot with the sweat
of playing, the ball arcing across the sky, their eyes
squinting into the sun, their sticks swinging down hard
to catch and throw, the black shredded tires soft
on their feet.

image from

Sunday, June 17, 2012

A New Little Book

when my little book was stolen
my codes, the addresses to sacred places,
all gone, no doubt settled into a dumpster
somewhere this side of Denver,
nothing could replace it except a bus
on the way out of town, stitched
in brown thread to my new codes,
my new addresses to sacred places,
let me begin again.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Musical Chairs

someone is left standing
not knowing the future
having nowhere to ponder such
the leg cramps, fatigue,
eye strain sets in watching
the ears wait for the start of
the music.
the poet is chatting with the physicist.
the flutist is playing Moon over Ruined Castle.
the hiker is tapping a walking stick on the wooden floor.
some is oneone is fully asleep, the nodding head snapping
to occasional attention.
someone is still standing,
waiting for a place to sit to ponder
the future, wondering who then
will be left standing.

Thursday, June 14, 2012


the rain,
it almost made it to the parched earth,
but not quite,
hovering over the plains
a curtain blocking the view west
to the mountains.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


do they really search for it
sitting at their desks at work
until the Company blocks it;
they reluctantly go back to work
all of them, white, black, rich, poor,
tall, short, it's hard to believe
but true.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Drifting Focus

In places, it drifts, the mind,
sticks down a sluggish canal,
cottonwood white across the sky
settling into a drift along the path,
a fluffy organism, does it assemble like
the lonely cells which gather to form a slug.
I see them sometimes in the garden
where there is something to eat en masse
do they celebrate a sluggish Eucharist,
somewhere the wind picks up,
the stick focuses on the opposite bank,
the fluff blows straight east, the mind
snaps to attention.

Monday, June 11, 2012

They will breed like rabbits

the rabbits run under the bushes when
we walk by with our coffees,
more slowly on the way back.
I heard that Jonathon got laid off today.
I called him and he said
Really, it's 50/50 or maybe 80/20
That's a big difference, I said.
Milk, full fat is 4
percent, I drink decaffeinated cappucinos
full fat regardless of that
pesky bulge above my belt line.
Isn't it weird that guy was pregnant
he had a potbelly slung underneath,
extra food stores.
Friends bring Scott lentil soup.
In China, a man cannot find a wife.
Africa's population is exploding
like the rabbits that
run under the bushes when we
walk by.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Thankgiving in Summer

Roast turkey in time for summer, shorts and sandals,
chard and collards, crackers and creme brulee.
friends, not foes,  cranberry sauce and salads,
spinach, gravy and grits, not the teeth kind,
a smile to soften any summer night.

Saturday, June 9, 2012


the Russians love my poems, the sounds their mouths
form around letters they don't understand, they are melodic
in their babushkas and fast internet connections for the Politburo
they write their words in candlelight, a glass of cheap vodka in hand,
a half smoked cigarette dangles from her lips as she massages
the left calf of her illicit lover who has to leave soon for
his office where he can massage the right calf of
his illicit lover as they write poetry together.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Le Petit Prince

Le petit prince would stand proud on Eros
stretching his arms up towards Jupiter in the morning,
down at Venus before nap, letting the stars swirl
his dreams, spinning fantasies like whipped cream
for birthday cakes his mother used
to make for that very
special day.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Annual Reports

why wait until 364 days
because data still rolled in
on day 363, but we'd be
sleeping now if we started
writing on day 355

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Etranger dans mons pays

Je comprends comment on pourrait etre etranger
dans notre pays; j'ai cette experience en parlant
dans une autre langue, pas ma langue maternelle
even if everyone is friendly, they don't look at you
in quite the same way, exactement comme je
ne parle pas autant facilement a quelque qui ne parle
pas english quite as well as I do, it's natural,
c'est toute a fait naturelle, we don't even notice it
except quand c'est nous, les etrangers.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Beginning, Middle and End

In the beginning, we sat inside
the heat was oppressive
the glare off the tables hurt our eyes

the air conditioning was too cold
the dry chill sent us outside to a
table close to glass barrier -
we could watch people go by
without getting their germs.

the city emergency alarm warming system went off
alerting us over and over and over
that it was only a test, only a test, only a test.
we looked at each other expectantly
the pause was too long.

We couldn't think
with the man and his friends at the next table
doing what they were doing
what were they doing,
we moved

inside until they left
and we moved outside

We couldn't think with that woman articulating in precise complaints
her life's story, was she gesticulating

In the end, we moved to another table
the wind blew our papers, a siren blared,
a petitie man on a manly motorcycle made us laugh.

It's the end now, enjoy it while it lasts
which is never long enough.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Clay in the Garden

I had garden envy.
Steve's lettuce, chard, kale, spinach,
all his greens,
and Diane's, all her greens
were beautiful, lush, sweet.
Mine, stunted, bitter and small.
Clay, he said, rubbing the
soil between experienced
Greens hate clay soil.
So do I.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Royal Arch

the edible variety erodes rapidly
in oil and wine, aided by the rapid movement
of teeth against a crisp crust.