Monthly Archives: August 2013


Late night wasteland                        (new)

I wake in the night
and go downstairs
and begin wandering through the living room
reading Eliot out loud.
I am not trying to reach anything
or expand my mind
but for some reason 2 am
calls for poetry and my voice.

My wife does not know I do this
once, twice a week.
After an hour I slip back into bed
rewarming our bodies.
The following mornings
my voice is always softer
my pace slower
and my love-you kisses more real.

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Posted by on August 31, 2013 in new poetry


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She is hidden…                        (new)

She is hidden in all my poems
Disguised as water
Or a stone
Or possibly sorrow.
I frame my words
With her geography in mind–
The coastline of her body
The mountains of her smile.
The rhythm of my poems
Are the rhythms of her breathing,
Asleep and awake.
They sing to me.

I imagine her reading my poems
And not recognizing herself.
She does not know she is hidden here.
She does not know this is her breathing.
She is looking in a mirror that does not reflect,
But I am on the other side.
I am gazing through
At the water
At the stone
At sorrow.

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Posted by on August 30, 2013 in new poetry


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2nd Anniversary                (in honor of)     (published in Cider Press Review, 2000)

When I shaved my beard
The hair fell clumped
Into the bathtub.

She asked me not to clean it.

She swept it into her palms
And took it outside.
She raised it as an offering
And let the wind blow it away.

She cried when it disappeared
Like she does
When she sees a helium balloon
Free and floating up.

“I often dream of flying,” she said.
“But I’m afraid you do, too.”

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Posted by on August 29, 2013 in previously published


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Garotte                     (originally published in Poetpourri–The Comstock Review–Fall, 1991)

Your words strangle me,
Whipped around my throat
To cut off my air.
You grasp the ends of their meanings
And pull tightly
Until, desperate for my breathing,
I admit, “The error is mine.”
You release me
And give me back the freedom of my words.
I can tell the age of our relationship,
Like trees,
By the amount of rings
Around my neck.

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Posted by on August 28, 2013 in previously published




Dance, Lisa, Dance                    (college)

Dance with me awhile
Spinning in slow circles
Underneath a maze
Of raised silver swords–

Oops, too romantically medieval.
Try again.

Dance with me awhile
As I stare into your eyes
Lost in their depth
Oblivious to the music–

Way too schmaltzy.
Not so poetic this time.

Dance with me awhile
Cyclones battling
Eyes facing eyes
On a gauzy beach–

Whoa! Too bizarre and abstract.
Oh well,

Just dance with me awhile
And I’ll be happy.

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Posted by on August 27, 2013 in college



cure for regret

when you left you took
your umbrella with you
so when I walked
in the fountain of our past
my hair got wet
I had no towels
to dry off my memories
and the wind of your leaving
blew harder
so now I have a hacking cough
and the sniffles

and I’ve just realized
you took the medicine, too

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Posted by on August 26, 2013 in old discoveries



Color of light

He understands
she moves with the color of light
brighter than the rest of us.
But he is a shadow-man
afraid of being seen.
A sunburn scarred him as a child
and he has never forgotten.
Yet he still loves her.
She finds parts of him
hidden in his darkness
and colors them neon.
And though they shine too bright
for the eyes he has chosen to use
they do not hurt.
And when she leaves
in that time between dusk and dawn
and he returns to his shadows
he caresses those traces of her neon
she leaves behind.
He understands
she moves with the color of light
brighter than he deserves.

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Posted by on August 25, 2013 in Uncategorized