Snippets 320-322

From the collection published in 2021, The Immediate and No Sooner.

320.
you want to be rising
in search of electricity
to be collecting no souvenirs
you want not to wait
7/16/20


321.
the ink
selected a word
a drop or two of though On paper
7/16/20


322.
I like
the sort of decorative cooking
Trying to happen in the kitchen now
7/16/20

Shadorma 310, 311

From the collection published in 2021, The Immediate and No Sooner.

Shadorma 310
8/13/20

Poppy seeds
in their plastic jar
Finger and
thumb grasp then
you do a shake-a shake-a
and pop the red lid

Shadorma 311
8/13/20

Arms dried out
cracked and pulled away
from shoulders
stiffened up
drawn in tight – my old age but
not: a clay sculpture.

Little Vines 7/1/22

This week’s selection.

5980.
Sign on a gas station along a lonely road:
no clues no conjures no curios
no credit cards accepted


5981.
a row of washing machines
your pink bra flashing by the window
It’s like it’s signaling me

5982.
Engine revs Metal clangs expands and contracts
The beat of the shiny heart is relentless
The rocket ship takes off

5983.
how that hour
can be such a free-running sieve
that pre-dawn post-nightmare
talking in your sleep hour

5984.
The cold sunshine bears down on the open grave
The stiff breeze rattles the floral tributes
Their ribbons snap in a festive kind of way.
It seems disrespectful.

5985.
These quarrels. Their infernal high-pitched shrieks
Thud of thrown shoes. Smell of burning silk neckties.
Sizzle of a cell phone dropped in the bathtub. Again.
These quarrels.

Snippets 317-319

From the collection published in 2021, The Immediate and No Sooner.

317.
the island
a torn-edged piece of
Somewhere else
7/16/20

318.
the early morning
came kicking
through the window
7/16/20

319.
If you wanted breakfast
Why kill This eggplant
Why another Deadly morning
7/16/20

When You Visit

From the book published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

When You Visit

The idea of you sitting
in a chair
in my living room.
Talking. Laughing.

The amorality of your glance.
The chill you give off. I shiver.

The idea of you sitting
in a chair
in my living room.
You have not yet set foot in my house.
I rise
I hurry

I slap back to shape the pillows you lean against
I polish your fingerprints from the chair arms you touch
I vacuum your footmarks out of the carpet
I wipe the doorknob
I open the window
Not enough.

Because there is always
the idea of you
sitting
in a chair
in my living room

7/28/20

Blurred

From the book published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

Blurred

The body in ironed pajamas
sleeping upstairs in the tidy room
Tonight its down-to-earth mind
slips out the dream window
into the warm dense
resonance
of what will not be remembered tomorrow

7/10/20

A few new: Bottom Line; Audited

Here are a couple of recent poems:

Bottom Line

Growing carrots.
Say what you want but
It’s not about the thrill
It’s about the money
she said.

6/28/22



Audited

The boss
Runs for the conference table
Papers flying
The light shines and the auditors
Glow.
Suppositions
Loneliness
Dirt
Awful sticky
Get out another yellow legal pad and a pen.

6/28/22

One Up

From the book published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

One Up

She picks up fashionable
with both hands
wrings it out
pins it on the line and dares it to wrinkle
She takes attitude and walks it on her leash
She mastered bored and haughty
in the cradle. She does dramatic
from the center of her bones
radiating it out through her skin
into the air into the sky the rain
across the craters on the moon
into the indigo

Plenty of people want to copy her
but she is young she is ancient
she is out of time in all kinds of ways
Knowing her is an addiction
no one minds acknowledging
even as it exhausts and desiccates.
There is no map.
And all she does is laugh.

7/10/20

One Last Time

From the collection published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

One Last Time

The clock in the kitchen ticks
but I am inside the silence
of hearing only the spoon that rings and rings again
against the curve of the mixing bowl
a sound the clock put behind me
so long ago

7/10/20

Out Again at Night

From the collection published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

Out Again at Night

Ten minutes after midnight
I approach the tumbledown house
in the humid darkness. The razor-sharp echo
of a barking dog magnified by distance
he hears me but he is too far away to hear me
terrifies and reassures. A candle flickers
and flares in an upstairs window
The curtain is alight now. Distressing but
Not my problem. Creeping across the grass
I flinch at another crash of thunder
take a tighter hold on my purse. Now the terrace railing.
I climb and drop. I dislike the feel of the lichened concrete
on my hands. No time to search for a tissue
to wipe them clean. A scent of moldering roses –
a whole florist shop-full of rotten sweet petals perishing –
follows me from the ruined garden. I wish I could hold my nose.
A white moth flutters around my head. Annoyed
I brush it away and drop my purse. The window above me
shatters from the heat of the flames. Glass rains down.
I finger-comb it in sparkles from my hair. Where is my purse?
I curse, not for the first time tonight, and –

Settling into the pillows
I lick my finger and turn the page.
The bedside lamp will be on
for some hours yet.

7/10/20