Monthly Archives: October 2013


You accuse me
of terrorizing the dandelions
but I simply want to chase them
across the field.
You say they do not move,
but for me,
the moment I catch one
I see another farther away
beckoning seductively.

And so I follow.

You say that’s stupid,
but who has the power to evaluate
how I choose to let beauty affect me?
The dandelions seem to like the game.
“Really?” you say.
And I answer
that all you have to do
is listen.

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Posted by on October 31, 2013 in old discoveries


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My neighbor, Theresa                   (published in Comstock Review, Spring 1998)

Floppy straw hat
Work gloves

                                    “It’s important
                                    to take care of your garden.
                                    If you neglect it,
                                    it will dry up.
                                    And too much water
                                    will drown it.”

            “Are you talking
            about my tomatoes
            or my soul?”

She just smiles
and keeps on planting.

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Posted by on October 30, 2013 in previously published


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Early morning, May

You rolled over
And I thought I dreamt it was Tuesday
In Dublin
With my luggage lost somewhere in the Atlantic.
I wandered among
The impossibly green hills
Trapped by the faerie air welcoming me home.

And then I thought I dreamt it was 1972
And I was on a street corner
Playing an electric jew’s harp for food money.
A stranger in an emerald hat
Danced to my tunes
And invited me home to dinner.

And then I thought I dreamt it was winter
In a bland white room somewhere.
I tried to leave my handprints on the walls
To prove my existence
But I failed.
A door opened
And the floor began to sparkle like dew
Around my shadow.

And then you rolled back over
And woke up.
And I realized I hadn’t been dreaming.
I had just missed the sparkle
In your impossibly emerald eyes.

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Posted by on October 29, 2013 in old discoveries


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Future Parental Lecture #83                (high school)

“Now Junior,
don’t complain.
When I was a kid
we actually had to get up
to change the channel.
I had to mow the lawn, too,
none of this controlled growth grass.
If I wanted to eat
I had to fix the sandwich myself
not to mention having to cook on a stove.
From the time I was sixteen
I had to work in a restaurant.
What’s that?
Oh, well, never mind.
You’ll understand when the computer
teaches cultural history.
Speaking of school,
I don’t know if you’ll believe this,
but I actually had to ride a bus
three miles in the rain to get to school.
And your granddad,
he had to walk four miles through the snow.
It’s the white stuff
that they put on top of the mountains
for the artists.”

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Posted by on October 28, 2013 in high school


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at the end
there is distance
the distance of plane flights
and death
a pulling back
before the pain

and I have felt this before
the pain of smiles
that have left me
in a dark
I did not imagine
and songs
that have drifted
out of range
dooming me to a deep
and impossible silence

so if my yin
is to laugh with you now
to enjoy this memory
and our love
my yang
feels the distance already
and is pulling away
as with death
before we are just
darkness and silence

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Posted by on October 27, 2013 in Uncategorized


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we fling ourselves at each other
arms of desire
          flailing wildly
in so doing
we blur our outlines
we try to separate
but can not pull everything away
and we end up leaving parts of us
          puddled on the floor

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Posted by on October 26, 2013 in old discoveries


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Renewal of loneliness                    (new)

I left them here,
all the miles of separation
    that trail from my voice

I never thought I’d need them again

But this night is long,
      so very long

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Posted by on October 25, 2013 in new poetry


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