March 10, 2020


I may make a little make-believe

But I bet when I typeset my type;

Chisel gray poems for the foreign to read,

I’ll stand by all stories I tell the wife.

On the stand, I’ll perjure myself to myself.

But then there’s a fierce fire, uncontrolled,

when I hear, “he’s a liar, so I’m told.”


What I say, when I must is

Only partially, & hardly to blame.

The code me & my god go by

Only improbably applies.

Only I can keep my heart’s claim.






(for sunni, honestly)






They say that at sea

mal de mer

Is easier to bear

If you can lift your gaze,

Look,  and lock in  the horizon—

The  distant   constant   transcendent  end.


I’m a man who  says   “Land, too.”







photo-Irish Cart Lane, by author



February 19, 2020



All said, when waiting

Was a silent art, Worth it.

I must’ve been shushed.











February 5, 2020



In the bad lighting
Man, his medicine, first draft
Cold stare down, Live down


This here old man thing.
Lately it’s loud as lightning.
I strive to survive.


Big strides on thin trails
Rousseau ferns, firey blossoms,
Placid lions, us





February 1, 2020


I’ve dreamt.  I forget..

I only kept

One excerpt, one clip

I took back

Here to look back to


You may see way down

To two  in the water,

Not drowned.

You could see that down there,

That they were freely moving.



We ride out on

That river of grasses,

And that  for a while now

Made for the miles

Between us.


We’d ride out on

The one door, the one

We always want open.

We’d ride one door,

Still open

Wide to a wide world.




January 2, 2020

“And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)”  from “Heroes,”  Bowie

“I never touch you”  from  “Breaking Glass,”  Bowie



I wear dollar-store glasses
they help me work on perspective.
I live for nothing I can think of.  fact.
It’s suggested I might just strive for focus.
In my day bed i might live
with one window & uncertainly my curtain cracked

I can wear one seventy five
On dollar-store glasses
I passed par for an old guy.
I’m far from passed, muy alive.
Tho’ she could present a good argument
Contesting that mad “muy” adjective.
I abstain again & again
And I’d hate to publicly substantiate


December 26, 2019


West, we rode & wrested away from…save the olde facades of Savannah.

When in Jesus-sodden Southern Georgia

Some sign solemn  told me “try him”,

I ran & ran that mantra by

& waited ’till my lips straightened.


Here, I take my sweet (& dear, fleeting) time

Rake up raw data…


I’m readyish I guess for you to take my order


September 18, 2019

prompt; whisper

I borrowed  a  pen
In an uberwaiting room
I wouldn’t just wait


When I was a kid
I’d pack a backpocket pad
Whispered  “get  it  down”



August 24, 2019

I LONG to stay stabbing, & stay above

The sullen, crestfallen  long run of things.


ALONG our river, a song, not near, comes outa corridor

Firelight on a black and white picture. Above.

One  man  walks  on  red  leaves

In a black & white picture  of

The long run of things.


A  LONE  man,  leaves,  and dawn

Draping him.  Not much

Escape for him, in the long run of things.




.theLouis-Philippe Bridge

Le pont Louis-Philippe vu à travers le pont Marie (version flou), circa 1935

[From the Réunion des Musées Nationaux]


April 19, 2019

Blackened breezes rustle
Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.
I took a sight that set me more lost
More sour than seasick.
I see him, knees bloodied,
Face drawn/ down
to earth.
I was being/ once/
Just a man also.
I spied/ by my back down
To my murk/
I cried/ by my own shadow,
But did not cry out,
To interrupt all that too intimate.




When I was a young/ more willful man,
I fasted/ from dawn friday
Until the last of easter/ Today
I’m past that/ I take the families
To the best italian place,
For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine
& all before that, maybe grace.