•October 3, 2021 • Leave a Comment

Every single thing
I write
I want to burn
As it turns
Making myself
With my own words
Is all
The gift
That I have left
To give
To spite
My dreamy inclinations


Painting: AA80 by Zdzislaw Beksinski

October’s Needle

•September 17, 2021 • Leave a Comment

A crow on the porch
And a cat in my lap
The sky growing dark
And descending

A sigh on the wind
And a stab in my brain
This season could use
Bloody mending


Painting: Female Hands Sewing by Giovanni Boldini


•August 30, 2021 • Leave a Comment

Sensations hyper
And frying
I fear
I am nearing
A meltdown
But those
Sizzling seconds
Just before
The crackling wires
And sparking
Blues reveal
The best of me


This Morning

•August 16, 2021 • Leave a Comment

My comforter
On the floor
Like intestines
From my bed
It is dehiscing day
Time set aside
To cleave
And clean
These unstitched 
Fevered dreams
Of infection


Painting: Unmade Bed, by Patricia Larson Green

A Little Death

•August 12, 2021 • Leave a Comment

The trees are coming down
Or being brought
Down after obvious death
With carefully crafted
Brutality, dismembering
And a system they have
Devised over years
Of ropes and saws and luck
And skill cannot keep
Slivers of what once was
From flaying and flying
Are my little dry dyings
As obvious now to others
And are they waiting
With implements and grinding
Gear and machines
To do away with whatever
Last bits of me


Photographer Uknown


•August 8, 2021 • Leave a Comment

I can see the end
Of summer
And feel it
With each early
Falling leaf
It’s a soft and drifting
Sadness laced
With longing
For letting go
Of light that kept me
For returning
To a darker earth
That keeps me
I welcome
My decay
And waiting


Painting: Decaying Leaves by Ginny Perry

Before the Fall

•August 6, 2021 • Leave a Comment

I can only see
The tops of trees
Sweet tips of green
Soft leaves of me
In sharp relief


Painting: Daedalus and Icarus, by Vladimir Kolosov


•August 6, 2021 • Leave a Comment

Place a pinwheel
By my gravestone
So when you visit
You’re invited
To see the spinning 
Of our whispers
And the turns
Of nature sighing


Photographer unknown, edited by me


•August 5, 2021 • Leave a Comment

A wood ant
On my windshield
At 50 miles
An hour
I wonder
How long he held on
When he left
Where he landed
And if
I’m still holding on
Or have I already
Brushed off
By a breeze
Or a low tree limb
Did we end up
In a destined place
Or sadly
From where
We should have


Photographer Unknown

A Touch

•August 1, 2021 • Leave a Comment

I risk
On my cool kitchen floor
To spite
The slicing shattered
From the night before
I love
Connected and exposed
It’s worth a bit of bleeding
Just to feel
A touch of those


Painting by Walid Ebeid
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