Posts for June 6, 2019 (page 2)


Coming Home

never forgotten
old friend
too long, welcome back
for the better

life hasn’t always been kind
but it’s good to hear
some things don’t change
in the sound of your voice

future plans
life renewed
it’s nice to have you
back on the same path

long goodbyes
now long hellos
little piece of my family
coming home


A Word Problem

If the humid nights dust the evening
Kentucky sky purple, how many years
will you continue to do the same thing?

Show your work in days
and, using your calipers, measure
the exact heaviness.

How many times from a young age
did you hold your words. Well? Badly?

If the number is not imaginary
how many words would it take
until you explain anything 
about your life?


I saw your hand

raised in supplication, or perhaps farewell, out beyond the breakers. Your long fingers needed taking but were so far away. Later, walking the drying rocks at low tide, I found you curled in impossible mountain flowers, like a lover in the last, best embrace available. There was nothing I could have done except to wave back, and that would never be enough. Had there been a way to hold you, release you from the ropes you contested, something else would have waited on the next wave and the next. We both knew that but will never believe.


Blood on the Leaves (From: Earliest Memories)

The rectangular kingdom of our sandbox
is where I waged afternoon battles
through makeshift dunes and the bogs
of the wet dirt below – soldiers fell
and tanks capsized. It felt safe…
until that day my oldest brother
came home from school to kid-sit
when my mother took the baby to the doctor.
A 7th grader, my brother was my protector.
I’d skipped around to the front of the house
to jump into the giant pile of leaves
that he’d raked up to take to the burn-pit
when the neighborhood truant, Leon Jackson,
walked into our yard and sucker punched
my brother in the nose. I shivered at the bright
red blood pouring down into the brown leaves,
my defenseless brother running into the kitchen
for an ice pack, and Leon sauntering on down
Jones Street like the Duke of Paduke.
I hung my head and went back around
to the sandbox and put my battalions
into their cookie tin.


Today Poetry Is

a severe thunderstorm
watch when you have
to mow the yard
for the party Friday
and the tomatoes
need staking and the
curtains need hung and
the recycling is late
and the Amazon
delivery just made
more trash and who
knows what kind of mess
will be left after
this storm if it ever
comes if there
ever was a storm



Going to space
Break the atmospher punch through 
To nothingness


Fruit Rot

spends the days
tracking the latest

is too honest
with an exoskeleton
that tells no lies.

is no more than a baby,
being spoon fed.

cannot deal with
as thin skin 
under the couch.

is bruised 
by the hands 
of others,
and at the center
sexual exploitation.

These fruits are rotting
in a way that cannot
be cleaned
with water.


pontificate upon this

stilled, two images

pass upon dusted parchment.
I abstain from the rest.
dizzily I pass over
protrude forward, these great tusks
one eye wretched, spinning
I am in a haze;
something bashful grows inside me
I don’t know how many months
I now caste into sulphur plus concrete
oh well. no stone will last
through all this rain



Magnolia whispers
Glide in the feathery wind
Leaving memories


Awkward scrapes

The madman has such a radiant smile

He’s eager to squeeze any soft throat

See, you cannot make a sound

When I press here


The forest night bird chirps in the city

Could be the little people, misfortune, death

The ambulance and helicopter chatter

Wild things are a scatter returning home


Chiseling the age off a relic

Chafing knuckles to bloody weeping scuffs

Deconstructing the new construct

Priming the body for new paint


The flakes fill the trash can like a ditch

Overflowing with candy wrappers and bottles

Haven’t you had enough?

Isn’t this sufficient entertainment?


After sunset it is all black and white

The choice is this or that

Suspense is a bright room overrun by shadows

The mystery is known. We are just waiting


For the final credits

For the uncovered evidence

For order to be rightfully restored 

For the wound to finally heal