That was a spooky step Some kind of Marble-magnetism Whirling me like a spinning top A dreidel on warm wood Make a cord I stayed full, a friend close by Repeat an obsession and it becomes a ratio to your world I do not like ratio talk, I think of using either nausea or plums,
TagPoetry
Multimedia Performance: Walking in the Shadows of Giants
“We walk in the shadows in giants,” I tell my friend Laila, before realizing that this isn’t the phrase. It’s ‘stand on the shoulders of giants,’ isn’t it? I don’t think they noticed. Either way, the accidental adaptation is a fitting one for what we’ve just witnessed—a multi-media spoken word event in which the two
Six Meetings with White Flowers
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good
The 9th and 10th of August
The 9th of August I water echinacea and watch melons grow. I find the scattered feathers of Turkeys in the morning, and the blood dripped dried below. I watch infinity’s strata unfold as keets corralled amass and grow into spotted Guinea Fowl. I recall, remember, am reminded of the depth of space, the tininess of
I am from here
Somewhere on the border, where the cold and the dry kills everything that needs to be killed, somewhere around here is where I’m from. Where the weeds are lush and the grass is gone. Where the cow’s milk tastes dirty and the breast milk tastes sad. Where bodies are cremated, not buried, and you can
Some Thoughts on Love
Some thoughts on love Some thoughts on affection I work my way up into no expectations And coax away the need for labels When I stare at your hand resting across the dinner table, And notice the fine scars across some shape of a palm That could belong to anyone But because it’s not anyone,
Imagined Sea Creature
I am fixated On a certain kind Of imagined sea creature That doesn’t exist yet, But has also Been clawing through the muck On the pond scum floor Of my stomach, Always. It loosens clots of dirt in my belly, And is made of white-hot metals That repel the water around it, Orbs of burning
Remembering in Place: Reflections on Berlin’s Memorials
I have often wondered if places hold traces of the past beyond the past’s material inscription. If the pain or joy of a family who has moved out of a house still resides there in some ineffable way. If tragedy stays somewhere in those walls. If memories float through the hallways. Or maybe, the presence