post a comment | posted Jun 10
Feeding the earth a lunch of stories
makes her shudder beneath me.
I throw the words like popcorn
into the depth of all the leaves,
so much depth
in all the leaves. I tell her ...
post a comment | posted May 30
Twenty-three years ago, I was painful.
I'm reminded of so many things when I think about my birthday. I like to tell people I'm not thinking about it, and mostly that's true -- since my mind is everywhere else this time of year -- but I see it coming, and it's like running at a wall, and fighting with yourself about being able to make the jump.
post a comment | posted May 16
childhood friends
and their homes for sale
dropped lines
of conversation
and laughter
like torn down
fences and the rotting
front porch
post a comment | posted Mar 22
Smearing fingerprints left on the glass
of a subway car, I trace scratchiti with the oil of strangers
now absent of colour, of height, of size, voice ...
Age boiled down to a signature somewhere deep in the beads
of collected and dried sweat,
dirt rendered into colour in palms from so many different streets ...
so many stories
so many smeared spots in every window before the car clears ...
post a comment | posted Feb 4
A cutting wind followed me down the streets of Manhattan. The sun toyed with shadows and selectively graced the faces that would turn toward it. It was somewhere among the among the noise and distractions, the dust and the motion ... somewhere in there that I found myself wandering, aimless, typically zig-zagging the avenues and the neighbourhood I found myself reluctantly leaving just last year. ...
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