Thursday, April 4, 2013


I installed a
smaller flea
door in the
dog door in

my door, then
locked each of
the three doors
from the

inside to prevent
the intrusion of
time.  I am now
too far inside

to hear myself
when I dream.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Making Do

What if a much
of a whether it's
wind laid down
its weapon and

wept?  A crow,
sensing it's not
time yet, waits.
A staircase the

weather is climbing
creaks with age.
"Mud", reluctantly
riming with "flood",

makes do with
the water it has.

Monday, April 1, 2013

As A Rule

Common sense, shorter
in person than on
the big screen, is
accessible only on

horseback, and then
only when weather
permits.  A premise
becomes a promise

after a painful
round of vowel
swapping.  Things
that can't go on

like this exit
to the left.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Famous Last Words

Not all last words
are famous.  Most
aren't, in fact.  Goethe's
famous request for

more light ("mehr Licht")
is famous primarily
because Goethe was
famous, though a

request for more
light at the moment
of death has a
certain comic quality

that might perhaps qualify
it even without Goethe's help.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

The Less That Is More

When the day becomes
so bright that we
begin seeing things
with our ears, distance

rounds its corner.
Certain words buried
in the wind can be
heard dragging

their meanings
behind them.  We
are careful not
to remember more

than is capable
of having happened.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013


Early confusion between
"cataclysm" and "catechism"
led to an annoying
hierarchy of old men

playing with matches
in the sacristy.  My
grandfather, fond
of saying the opposite

of anything said in
favor of just about
anything, let his
mood swing open

slowly like a
barn door.

Friday, March 22, 2013

After Bei Dao

I take evening's
shortcut through
the meaning of
life to postpone

passing through
death's door.  A
little girl delivers
a freshly-picked rose

to the morning.
The conductor
chases a lion back
 into a symphony's

cage.  Another day
falls from its nest.