Thursday, September 30, 2010


Yesterday I enjoyed
not raking the leaves
off the lawn almost
as much as I enjoyed

not having a lawn
to rake the leaves off
of (I live in a condo).
I'm pretty sure I'll

enjoy not painting
the kitchen tomorrow
even more than I enjoyed
not painting it last

year about this time because
another friend had just died.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


My mother, lighter
in death than life
let her be, leaves
no tracks as she

tiptoes down the
path less traveled
by she tried
to make a difference

on. Not much
of a difference, mind
you, just enough
of one to make us

mindful of the distance
between here and now.

Sunday, September 26, 2010


If I weren't so busy,
I'd devote more time
to not doing more
of the things I've

always enjoyed not
doing. Being on time,
for example, bores
me in a way I won't

go into here because
I don't have time. Saying
what I mean when
what I don't mean

sounds a lot more interesting
is an even better example.

Saturday, September 18, 2010


On one of the numerous
occasions when I was not
kidnapped by Indians
I came across an article

entitled "No, Not This".
I didn't read the article
(for reasons that should
be obvious) and have continued

not reading it to this day.
Yesterday I didn't die again.
I may not tomorrow either,
though tomorrow is, of course,

purely hypothetical. I'm planning
to not visit Mars again next week.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


My friend John, a retired
homicide detective, said that
he and his partner were sent
to investigate a complaint.

A woman had called to report
that her next-door neighbor
hadn't been seen for days
and that her dog was making

a lot of noise from inside the house.
Forcing their way into the house,
my friend and his partner found a woman
dead on the kitchen floor, her dog

having eaten what John lovingly
described as "the best parts of her".

Sunday, September 12, 2010


What annoys me most is the number of dead poets out there who are still breathing. No, I'm not saying what you think I'm saying, and, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.

I once walked a mile in someone
else's shoes before noticing my
mistake. I immediately turned
around, retraced my steps, and

replaced the shoes outside someone's
door. It could have been anyone's
door, I guess, but it wasn't. It was
someone's door. The

shoes had been left there
for someone else to shine.
I wasn't someone else,
so I didn't shine the shoes.

I just left them there,
outside someone's door.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Paul Hoover

Paul Hoover, one of my two favorite poets and a long-time friend, has just won the Frederick Bock award for a group of poems that appeared in the June 2010 issue of Poetry Magazine. Congratulations to Paul. The poems are great!

Zhora Drif 2 by Asad Faulwell 2010

Monday, September 6, 2010


Lately I look at life
through a periscope,
peering up through
myself to where

the others congregate.
Angels and angles
trade places when
I twist the scope

this way,
that way.
about who they are,

they take turns turning
into what they aren't.

Friday, September 3, 2010


When i think
about how many
miles there are
between me and

the most distant
stars, I get
nervous and then
fall asleep. Or

I fall asleep
first and then
get nervous about
being asleep with

so many miles to
go before I sleep.

Every night I curl
up into what is
left of me and sleep.
One night I didn't.

I painted the kitchen
instead, reminding myself
all the while of the
insomniac Madonna

we called "Mom".
When the sound of a
vacuum cleaner woke
us up at three, we

assumed the moon was full
and burrowed back into ourselves.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

for Hosai

I had an idea and
a sob. I threw
the idea away,

it would come back
another day, the way
it does when I'm lonely.
But I'm only lonely

when I'm only.
And I'm only only
when you're not here
and when, for whatever

reason, a sigh duster
tosses my sob away.