Sunday, January 3, 2010

New Blog (Sort of)

this is not a poem,
the poem is elsewhere,
look here no more,
follow the link
& see

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

10:30 (am)

waited for the bus in the
too cold street, 7:00 am,
a dim reminder, cracking
trees, crunch of snow
packed into ice, 1st ave at
the entrance Moore's
Meadow, the few cars that
pass, all focused on the
road ahead, bus arrives,
i enter, cold and waiting

Sunday, December 6, 2009

(i don't understand...

i'm here
     --in this somewhere

motionless, a fear,
certain insecurities

unsure of self,

the room     cold
     too much dark
     around my eyes

            i wanted to tell
            you how i was.
            to tell you where
            i am,

don't know if i'm ready,
the world is too big
for my small hands,

                                   a word

misplaced     my
     directions home,

the heart--
     forign ground,     a wild

     it's difficult,
           b/c i have a lot
                 to learn,
                              to understand

     the look in her eyes,
          the long of her smile

i don't want to be here,
this uncertainty, this obscurity,
the way       i feel
           when i look
                   to the ground at
                   your feet

love is a choice
     to choose, make

find what     i'm looking for

               to see what's right

to know...

          in this place
          that we're still

called you in the afternoon,
listened to     our silence,
          static & a dial tone,

to grow up,
an instant,
to face the mirror
     & see

i don't remember,
               the only...

head out,

rootless,     on the edge, by
                  creek and snowbank,

when for a walk,
saw a histroy in--


                 no response...

Monday, November 23, 2009

This Town XIII (two days --

              my name is today,
                           i'll be gone tomorrow

his meticulous nature, --
            (two sheets of loose leaf

                                                      (leaving this
                                                                  town --

                                     left this place
                                     the other day                               waited for the bus
                                                                                         one last time,

                                                             never looked back,
                                                             forward into the                                     uncertain,
                                                                                                                           expectation gone

                                                                        leaving this town,
                                                                                  i know

                                                                                                 collecting space, --

                  she stepped out of the fire,
                  burnt ashes in her eyes

                                                                            the embers of her heart
                                                                            blown away by the passing wind,

this place let me go,
i let it go                                                                                                                       so long

                                                                                                                                               forgive us

                                                           two dogs fuck
                                                           as i walk by, growling
                                                           into each others necks

          looking through glass
          below the table, legs crossed                                                   broke down, interrupted,
                                                                                                                      stained glass

                                                              this is
                                                                           what it is

       failed history,
                 it happened
just like they
            said it would

                                                                                   this now is what
                                                                                                  needs to be done

                                          this here is what
                                                 has been done

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

(fell asleep with book in hand)

                       history & poetry coexist

                       a river across & through                        into & out of
                                                                                                               the same place

poetry begins & history waits
reshaping the old maps
                                                                           with familiar lines
                                                                                        crossing out the new ones

                              in time      as time always does
                                        poetry & history                      collide

                 an accident occurs          unnoticed

people wait on the                      margins
                                                                        & fringes

                                        these dots do not
                                                   connect to make shapes
                                                   but what happens
                         in between                    falls to the wayside


                         the others with
                                      the others

           as history begins
                       poetry waits
                                on the sidelines

              waiting to be written as poetry hides

Monday, October 26, 2009

(finding a dead cat in the morning before work)

it didn't just happen
beside a green

it ended
in an instant
before it could really

nor did it wait around
for the right moment

though maybe
drug it off the road
& put it there to rest

these things don't just

like that,

we don't stumble upon them
& assume that they actually begin


we go back & create
a story to make sense

of it

so we feel okay,

but it happened

& it's not

Monday, September 28, 2009

This Town XII

with soft hands
i'll tear this town

rebuild along
missing lines of communication,

a history found
in debris,
shards of glass,

dirt trails with
cigarette butts leave
one night memories
across scattered landscapes,

someone asks,
i respond with plastic thoughts,
too lazy to carry the right amount of words