Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Untitled - Acrylic on paper

 So, this is me getting to know the new brushes and paints I purchased recently...

Sunday, March 01, 2020

When the dog scratches at sunshine

When the dog scratches at sunshine,
what does she hope to find? Is she,
could she be, after its brightness 
what it might, this lightness, what it could bring
to mind, those thoughtful, or less, things forgot, 
gone far and thought lost. If she brought,
would she bring them, or
a piece of them back, not to so much to savor, but 
maybe to reconsider: At what we'd been,
if being was even then, more or less.
And in all of this, had she
missed it, should she miss, and see the way past,
the sign it meant: the glint that pauses
paws ready for, and before, causes that leap ahead.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018


I've left off.
I've leapt off,
Dreaming me, myself once, now
I dream me another,
one other
than myself. Not
my voice, not
my mien,
not mine.
Around me, not
my friends or loved ones, but
ones loved the same.
And me again
myself, as other. With now,
this now,
being time
or times
when the other is
stranger; When an other is,
how? Other than loved?
There is danger in love, in
the stranger I've become. In
dream, I can
love another, this other than
me. My self, yes
myself yet,
because I am he, or
her, or...
I am loved . And I'm at a time, when?
why, when
I wake, and when I may not be
myself, or another, yet not
not. Not
yet. Yet, no other, and yes
for all
I am, all
as I began.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

To possess it

To possess
it, without an es-
grin, poses 
a problem
for them,
normally dull brown,
and sunk down
by bulbous noses
that sniff a tru-
er face in the blue.
And why
not, reflecting, as they should, on the sky?

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Have you seen rain drops fall like snow

Have you seen
rain drops
fall like snow,

no weight
to their skips,

zigging and zagging
on the lagging

They ease me into this
early day's lazy gray

not yet moved
by those early risen

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Ill winds

The wind's ill
but it blows well
and good. To some
one, no good being
left a great sum when
it wasn't willed. No,
not by a wind, nor
Time, nor the Easterly
ways she hangs about,
and cross, creases her
face to say hi,
then leave it, her
with the wind.

Sunday, January 08, 2017

The wisp that was and wasn't

It was
lower, less round, less
deathly pale, and more
than the half-moon looming
above it
until it
wasn't, blown
into blue by
an unseen breath

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

inconsistent, see

Inconsistent, see
I am, just what I told you
and not. Where it went,
I don't know. Where did it go,
the Sympathy? It's not mine,
or not now.
The weight is. The
weight came
fast. Faster than the wait
left, or tried to. Not all
at once. It hopped in
and out like the sparrows
who visit, interchangeably,
inconsistently, wanting
but not daring,
then gone.

Saturday, May 07, 2016

The play of histones

Every one
is some(d)
one else's other(s),
added to
their bothers
cares fears and druthers,
another(s) but not other(s)
truly, just a
same(d) one
different(ed) in the play
of histones.

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Higher math

Your math
may pattern it, death,
in threes. I count
it, an error, in
the account-

Thursday, November 05, 2015

Folk of the future

These formidable folk of the future are
fetched in by the round out of your ears,
the tales you sound of forgotten games
not the fact you came from a pastful same

Sunday, October 25, 2015

And there will be no

praise for Folly, Erasmus, from these lips,
or from what I use as lips, the tips
of fingers I've let linger without expertise
on a feeling less feeling than desire to tease
what I can, or they may, from a simple rock.
I found it on the spoiled ground I walk,
alongside hop-scotch squares chalked
to dare jumps from steps I give to the bare
concrete. Its smooth brown whisper
hints at lost red, but it hasn't led me to what
formed it: not what gravity of years; not
the great weight of a wait uncounted; not the slow
or sudden forces that freed it. I don't know
any of it. I'm not as foolish as the French
academic I read who studied a people at length,
and their region others had named. He claimed
to know what makes, or made, them different. The same
I could say for a taco chain and its bravado
at being expert in making flavorless burritos.
I'll boast instead of the plastic bear.
It's clearly grown better at holding air
than the honey leaving it. I also like this rock, and what
matter it's expert in. It's this rock, until it's not.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Trees make a bad choir

The woman, out-of-seasonally in
her winter's attire, fire-red
jacket and woolen cap, snaps
off rounds of sermons. Full-on
leafy, on a late-spring's early
morn, the parked trees stretch and stand
stately in their disbelief.

Saturday, May 16, 2015


hour devouring
its all. our's to flow
and flower. to borrow
ouroboros hours

Saturday, March 14, 2015



Tuesday, January 06, 2015


What's the use of a fulla love
moon if ya can't swoon a little
at the too soon of it. I will.

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

lavender and gray

The story of gray and of lavender
is a product of their time together,
of arcing heights, yellows arranged, the lines
of ocean scold, and a bye-going sliver,
and they tell it, this story and their time,
to no one unwilling to hold its shine

Saturday, June 07, 2014


The still air still carries
a heavy light, wing beats
heavier than the wait
of tires, these tires waiting
to resume their susurrous rush

Sunday, May 25, 2014

who tends

who tends the dying sparrow(?)
not the sky
with the many
not the sky
so many to hold

I held distance and it was(.)
light not sad
for the many
not saddened
so many dying

Saturday, May 17, 2014


It's become unbecoming,
this becoming
becoming less.

Into each life... no,
into (and after) each rain,
a little life.

Must the flies come?
They've come, falling
back into stories no one

needed to tell. The crawls of
unwelcome spiders
follow, and more


Saturday, April 26, 2014


It's the sun that's risen. O, it rises again
and again. The you flares from it, again, and then
it rolls away rock eyes and it reveals to them
all that's alive in the face of non-living things.