beauty of the sea                                                                                                                            por-
trayed in miniature                          

                              pools have many moods                                                                     hold the stars    
       reflect                           the Milky Way

shining
eyes of small fishes             
                      slender as matchsticks                                                                                         

                                                               moonbeam flashes      
                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                                               depth of     sky                                                                                           

                                                                                                  band of bright green       
                                                                seaweeds                                                       

                                                                 gray rock rises                   

                                        a man                              descends      

                                                                                                        transcends
 

                                                                                                                                                                sees
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                               the strokes of
a skillful artist’s brush                                                      

                                                            as      the painter    creates

[This is an erasure poem created from pages 110-112 of The Edge of the Sea by Rachel Carson.]

I could walk the desert 

Sitting on a twin bed
in a pass-through bedroom
a fan moves hot air

You don’t know how hard
your daddy works, Mom says
to make what little we have

Lotta things going down
gotta hold your mouth right
so they’ll stop/turn around
steer the battleship with your eyelashes  

Dodge a fistfight
Evade a nervous breakdown  

Be              

       for the sake       
       of friends in the psych ward          

       Balance when                               
                                         sharks          

                                                          circle                         

                                         the          
        paddleboard  

Your paddleboard
My paddleboard
Their paddleboard
It’s all the same paddleboard          

          That’s why we’re alarmed        
           when we hear sirens  

Dead deer
Mangled roadside
Magnet for foul vultures
Disgusting but necessary
Cycle

* * *

Lost watch
Sturdy Timex
Down the open sewer grate
Ticking somewhere in the darkness
Faint heart

* * *

Bad apple
Mealy skinned, soft
Not fit for beast nor man
Bite I wish I’d never taken
Blame Eve

* * *

Good grub
Shrimp tempura
Drizzled hot & sweet sauce
My love has seafood allergies
My gain

* * *

Bad boys
Drink and cuss much
Anyone tell you that?
Hell yeah, let’s go another round
Clean fun

Roman summer nears.
Plants dry body slows city
sighs. Seven hills sweat.

dawn’s dog mouth already yawns 
to reveal its pink anatomy,
the river lolling its wet tongue

light pools on the floorboards,
licks at the legs of a chair,
finds my dress hanging there

it’s time to play
the lovers who will strut
through separate rooms
as the day commits
to its terms and conditions

you hold me as though the doorstep
were a cliff-edge

light-headed,
I wade through this air
clear as cold water

we know the body is a bad historian
and we suck
the marrow of this moment
pressed to the wall,
we lick our delicious wound

outside, a bus coughs the day back into life

i never meant to leave
a trail of pebbles
back to you
and I so don’t
and here you are
saying this was beautiful you
are beautiful
tracing
my shadow on the wall
with red lipstick

I’m sick with these

From whence does all this clutter come
When clutter there was not before?
It seems to suddenly appear
The second I walk out my door

The cluttered pages—all receipts
From shopping at the grocery store
Or advertisements mailmen left
Inside the box by my front door

The cluttered boxes, cluttered bags
New fabrics as the seasons change
A laundry mess from laundry room
And from my closet, rearranged

The cluttered toys, a Lego set
A gift from a well-meaning friend
And puzzles that I’ve not solved yet
From series I would recommend

The cluttered books sat on the shelves
From writers old, and new, and dear
Some that I’ve had since age of twelve
Some borrowed, now suddenly here

Seems clutter here and clutter there
All piled upon my once clean floor
Was clutter there and clutter here
From spots beyond my bedroom door