Time is a fire that burns through everything: The redwing blackbird, the blood moon, the ranch and its every lilac in the bush. Only the nether of everything remains. A hologram of every ending. Resilience is the only thing. (aRead more…
Carmine
Morning dresses slowlyWhich lights up the skyWrapping a carmine scarf around the neck of dawnThe oaks shrug off the light and shrink in under their blanketsFor one last dream of walking.The river takes all the paleness spilling over the world,SpreadsRead more…
Death Poem
Bent over his lap,he was a samurai. Nothing deferred him from his work.The hot sun layers down red lacquer on his neck.The late spring foxtails scratched the soft skinof his lower back where the shirt rode up.On the other sideRead more…
Lace wing disaster
A thousand lacewings caress the bare black skin of the river. Overhead, the last fat cruisers of spring’s rain steam across the ocean of sky toward a crash in the mountains that will exhaust them deliciously and have no name.Read more…
a Dad coffee story
Dad’s coffee maker at his little corner shack in Redondo used to be white. It was that kind of 80’s-era plastic like old electric plug covers that turns yellow with time.By the time he walked into the spare bedroom inRead more…
She Sat
The soft grey blanket of the pacific lay like kindness over the basin. On the ledge of the shore just before the precipitous flattening of the failing surf she caught me: her straight back, hands together in front of heart,Read more…
Winter 2017
We are getting older. Leaves are still falling. Oaks with their thousand years cut short lie in pieces in the field, replacing gold and green with grey. The roses curl their leaves in on themselves, and their hips are theRead more…
Right Now
Even now the lake is smoothing its face to see the first stars bursting out of the indigo sky The sun’s luxurious red hair trails on the far hills who have already gone black with sleep. Armed with only theirRead more…
the message is
The River of Life is Salt: buoys you up no problem with tears and sweat stings like a fuck when you get hurt. The Salt is singing. Sometimes, you are not listening. Sometimes, the message is silence. Sometimes the messageRead more…
Grinding her teeth
The Goddess of Flowers is grinding her teeth. Softly luminous, tethered to a million fetal pieces of spring She is clenching her fists. Birth pains ~ maybe. And a hatred of the bare, twisted branches she is trying not toRead more…