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Category Archives: Poetry


i have been waiting to put down this shovel and sit on the muddy grass.  grueling hands grumble not used to this kind of work that surely my friends’ fathers were natured to.  instead i and a generation of youth escaped under green blinks of cursor and curious’er tappity tap tap.  i can smell the […]


sometimes i wonder.  i wonder if i were you who i would be?  where would i be?  when would i be?  were i you would i love me?  or would i feel nothing?  what kind of days might i have?  would i still feel the same about life and friends and love and life?  would […]


over the mound and up into autumn brown grass sky is an ocean of sand and unswept tears.  i am here and i am dead.  behind in these trenches are dug the unspent moments between scenes of youth.  i am dead until i return with all the carbine spent and casings hammered like nails in […]


here on the surgery table under the tin capped incandescents there lingers the lungfuls of purpled dust motes.  outside there are too many. is too much.  but inside more so than all else so little left remains.  bone and sinew wrap in desperate defense protecting a muscle which when opened to the airy whispers and […]


Here this morning under the dying Autumn sun the bus rocks over gravel slick roads and fluorescents flash steadfastly over the slated cherry slumbering eyes all while a metal bird chirps excitedly to the rear.  We call this something. A life. A routine. A ritual. An exit.  I wish I could tell my child this […]

Inanity: Found

There are times when even I must wonder about my own self and the security of my sanity in a world that to me seems best described as more wonderful imagined in the boundless confines of my cerebellum than in the infinite variety of reality.  To wit: A week or so ago I was on […]

Weeble Wobble

Me and my foe foo row ramma.  I dish and you dash and I know I got to go hoe and come on to do all that.  I have no idea.  No clue.  Notta respectability, neither nor all there or even some that.  But still I here while you but there.  And you ever so […]

In Between Thirteens

Today there is just this day remaining: one last day amongst thirteen thousand five hundred thirteen.  Thirteens, these book ends.   What tomes are writ there once?  What are to be writ here hence? And I will go to bed at noon.” — Fool, William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act III This once statement, even affirmation of […]

I, Wind

Up along the Cedar Tree I whirl Clouds are my eyes You are Sun heating me high I cannot be anything but moved Even in the cold darkness of slumber You come eventually rising up over my horizon And my song whispers up along your branches Unheard through the vacuum of space

Going North Looking for East

There is no gastank to look for this time as I pull out of Everett under the curtain of June rains Pointed backwards toward the long shadow of memories of you as my companion Running north into water-colored mountains, painted in muted finality across my then and now horizons Even now as your Sun wakes mines […]