August 26, 2012 § 5 Comments

you leave your shoes
when you go out hopping

between her and me and baby makes three
swimming the grey puddle betwixt

its amazing fur stays fixed, murky white after your nights
you leave your shoes

cant say I’m bothered by the silent
on my porch, at two or three

cuz when you’re with me, its dirty
not the fluid putty pile

that makes me, her and her smile
you leave your shoes

by the bruised tile mile
then you usually float a while

and baby usually rocks a while


for dVerse Poetics , gorgeous painting is by Borg de Nobel and its called Dreamhopper.

Mission Statement

August 26, 2012 § 2 Comments

I picked at something until
it got solved.
But now,
there’s blood.

Surveillance I

August 19, 2012 § 1 Comment

Graziela started sitting outside the cabin in the woods 3 weeks after she found it. It was a culmination of odd behaviors that were a direct result of its discovery. The introduction had been because of Ron and his favorite clearing in the forest. Ron and Graziela we neighbors and secretly friends at home. Lou and Prince Bonnano had been chasing Ron all year for his lunch money and then, his grandfather’s watch. Ron hid in the clearing never once discovered by the Bonnano boys. But it did seem to be made to enchant Ron and lead Graziela to someplace. And it did both in one summer.

Growing Business

August 19, 2012 § 1 Comment

Us might
Find the code
To de-program this whole
Mess if we (fuck)look(hard)enough

Piss Alley Ode

August 16, 2012 § 19 Comments

Full on run to alley, with love,

Wine. With patchwork lit neon sign

beer stink night gone to the weak rub

quarter click mix up pocket fine,

still no holes. Park with lost kind,

stops shapes corner kiss remiss by

mornings smell of piss in lot lines.

Brick beyond lottery egg fry.


For dVerse FormForAll…Love community. Love poets.

Not After All

July 11, 2012 § 1 Comment

not one to shirk
heard your first confession
with ears like saucers
and a yellow butter cup heart
not once but twice
tasted the salt of your belt
training wheels and all
as you were in the wind,
on the lam, emotions like bars
of a jail unguarded by skeleton deputies
not just one thing but many
wrong and seldom forgotten things
trig and trying
hard reliving
unyielding relieving
hesitant reviving
split shoot striving bullet
trouncing a path for the wicked
not forever but maybe
misclassified heart-flashes of clarified mutter
whoopsie daisy
after all


July 5, 2012 § 7 Comments

He is always losing something. His keys, his phone, his iPod, his license, his bank card, his hat, his work shirt. Honey, have you seen the keys? I can’t find my license. Where did those directions go? I lost my sunglasses.

When I was six months pregnant with my first daughter, he put the keys in my purse and promptly FORGOT. We didn’t check it until hours of looking later. At that point we had already contacted the dealer to order new keys. I had missed work. We had called my sister-in-law down from New Hampshire to drive us to GET the new keys and screamed at each other. A lot.

For years, it drove me nuts. I would set up key hooks. We tried a bowl. Nothing I could do, no habit to ingrain, no trick I could teach, no job I could assign could stop him from losing his shit.

Then, one day it just dawned on me in one of those freeing moments where a chunk of that chip on your shoulder that you never admit exists falls away and you breathe deeper than you thought possible. Things like that just happen to him. It’s just part of who he is. Loving him doesn’t including saving him from all pain and aggravation. And I shouldn’t expect him to change who he is. In surrendering to that, I noticed something really amazing.

He always finds what he thought was lost.

Where Am I?

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