Month: March 2015


In the bus-drivers world
more people
are worried
about their health.
From his seat
far more people
are jogging.



This morning was foggy;
dense, heavy
and laying
in layers.
It functioned
like a lens
and broke the rising sun
in two parts:
the explosive light
of the sun
and the other
the simple image
of the sun as a disc,
like one sees
during an eclipse.
It was odd.
The raging of the sun
and the simple beauty
from each other.
Sometimes I can see
myself in this way:
two halves.
The unfocused chaos
of a life
in progress
and the simple visage
of the man himself
riding that chaotic wave.
I too
am raging.

Blood in the streets

I found myself
to Morrison’s
An American Prayer
the other day
and I recalled
how much I once wanted
to have my work
sound as well
when read
His poetry has been
vastly underrated,
his narrative style
The cadence
is addictive,
the balance of syllables
I will humor myself
and read
(with soft intonation)
one of my longer pieces
and pretend,
for just a minute,
that I am holding court
(and a pint)
on a dark backroom
of a bookstore,
or some venue,
while people listen
with rapt affections.
Then I break my trance
and step away
from this hollow