Thursday, June 22, 2017


had to turn it off the peeping
into bits of stories embedded
planted in my head blooming
 red flowers under gunfire.

it's not so much the stories they wash off with hot water and soap. it's the sounds that won't stop, even late at night.high pitched nicotine stains. rabid teeth. choleric rock fisted monuments. the moon slices my abdomen, wailing ants escape. sarin gas sings soliloquies from a  vape. i keep seeing his face, the one i won't watch, disintegrating like a flock of geese come hunting season.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

scurrilous inuendows

she  hears tranny like it's a  gang rape
he wears tranny like a badge
somehow we all gotta fit in this space
a spectrum's all we have.

when the clothing feels wrong
is it wrong to change it?
what else is skin but color and size?
and if
 there's power in word
it must be we  who gave it
there's nothing else to keep it alive.

Thursday, June 08, 2017

the deconfliction line

Russia sent it
 the regime of proxy aircraft
 and special ops.

 attacking  an accidental confrontation
 mitigates the danger.

 Russia swallowed
took a step that  could not legally expand.

 mission creep emerges
 on the opposite side
 worried that it looks
too much like a de facto.  imperial

bilateral military-to-military is real,
even with the deconfliction channel  open.

Friday, May 26, 2017

suck on these shades

it's morning in america they'd say
big blinding westbound sun strikes
your eye and it's a four hour backup
on the howard franklin. late for work again.
shoulda bought them raybans or work
in the other direction.

speaking of weather, i stayed in
while glaciers rained over
the southeast, while
 the north sun's corolla
spun magnetics into aurorae
yellow and blue as the bruise on my thigh.

it's an odd fact, all things are connected
all fish in school turn simultaneously
birds in flock land in the same tree
i get high and you see in me
dark matter the ocean in we

odd because we don't know
that we know, sitting in caves
singing plato and watts and ebony faves
off key and white bready
on key and quite heady
hosannahs that bring us here with a wave.

Monday, May 08, 2017

it's never like that

talking in third person, she didn't wait
for the correlations to be added up.
the scene called for action so she drove her car
into the pond in the flood. it was not the right choice.

many layers of years later
the memory unfolds above the surface
reflects in her shelter, shimmery and vague
blending with faces of the drowned
covering the faces of the dead.

she tries to put her finger
on a single thing, a crux she missed-
the smell of weed in the guest room
the thank you never written
lamented lust after late night battles, well fought- she
doesn't know what
 has landed her in the sorry state.
but sorry she is, her eyes
 are radishes stuffed
into macaroni shells, her brows spell tragic.
she sees herself in the mirror, sternly mimes at the reflection
 the- accepted-if -confronted -excuse
" i didn't mean anything by it. let's plan something soon, call me"
she grins,  maniacal eyed. hits unfriend.
steps into the shower

Sunday, April 30, 2017

found these old pics on g drive. the writing prompt was you're immortal. 55 words.

i had some fun dates when i was single. not many. but some, like this one. the streetlights were all disco balls, rotating in the sultry dusk. my date, a man who relieved me of  not one, but two kittens from a large litter borne by my last unfixed cat, was doing a side job for an out of town artist friend. he had to make sure all the disco balls were spinning, and if not, attempt to get them going again. we strolled  the river walk, along the new convention center, where a formal event was taking place.  i stumbled among late arrivals like a bewildered waif, gazing at the spinning mirrors' refractions on the sidewalks,car windows, a young woman's coiffed hair; noticed  the new trolley station installed across the street, exclaimed -let's take this out to ybor! i meant later,  but he was working. i may have embarrassed him, a low key guy who kept under everyone's radar.

in the rotunda, light swims in swarms over the marble and glass high above, like gnats pooling in patterns on the roadside, mornings on the way to work .i stand transfixed, recording the movement. bottled fire. the galaxies of pandora's cluster. caged infinity, revolving.

dreaming seeds

i thought it would be fearless, like sun. it's more diamond. facets of lives i've lead reflect into one another. i bounce off brightly blurred memories, settle in the middle. time is measured in lovers' deaths. centuries pass between one new taste and the next. i envy flowers, the joy of the sprout.

people passed by me as i stood against a wall of the portico transfixed, looking up. cotton skirt, sandals, sloppy shirt over a wifebeater, braless. some side-eyed me, some glanced up as well.  my date went about checking the globes and the spinning while i stayed in the the shelter until the last pink was gone from the sky. 

this was a different date, an entirely different man. we found this hallway and it feels immortal-the ghostly pattern the slanting sun light makes on the left, just before the turn. but i digress.

after we inspected aaalllll the spinning
 disco balls  and there were so many, all
 the streetlights around the convention center
 and the river walk around it even
 along a side path turning
 from the river, where looms an old
30's  era gate tower i'd only caught in glimpses
prior,  an un moving globe discovered!
so he resets the motor, takes out a retractable
grip, gives it a spin and we watch it for a while
and maybe we kiss i can't remember but we do
 have a smoke then he says so, you wanna
check out that trolley now?

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

how to read a poem

dive deep, hold your breath or wade
in gingerly, in case it's intemperate.

this is not a book to carry you
out of yourself to some deserted island.

the poem surrounds you, envelopes you, it
can buoy you   or pull you under.

sit in it for a while. let it sink into your skin
until you understand the story in the wrinkles.