Thursday, November 11, 2010


Talking down a road,
I trip over vowls,
stumble over consonants,
step on words,
get stuck in phrases
- weak and volatile,
short and strong,
long and languid,
until I finally find a


Saturday, September 11, 2010


Caught in the last shadow of the year
between tea cups and coffee pots,
empty wrappers and broken bottles,
that one melody in your ear,
you redial.

Saturday, August 21, 2010


Standing on sweating blacktop
quenching your thirst with memories
of running along shorelines,
of building castles
and drinking sandy 7 Up,
like you never tasted
anything so sweet.

Sunday, August 1, 2010


Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
- lies good luck.

Friday, June 25, 2010

On a Balcony

When our feet rested on concrete balconies,
beer in hand, music in back,
sunset in front,
it wasn't easier.
It only felt that way.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Kids' chatter,
Kids' laughter,
Kids' life filling
every pore of the car,
          they leave behind,
a vacuum of silence
for our thoughts.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Rush Hour Apparition

In a sea of gray
your effortless skirt
is only topped 
by the Divine Comedy
on your knees.

Monday, April 5, 2010


She came dressed
as a lonely girl. 
Not easy; at ease
with herself
by herself
for herself, 
on her own feet, firmly
planted in the clouds.

She stripped, lonely
layer after lonely layer.
Bit by bit, piece by piece,
shell by shell.
Standing there, 
beaming, glowing,
radiating, silent, 

She moved, 
breathed, touched.
Starch sheets, cotton shirts,
warm wood;
shoulders, legs, hair
moist skin.

She stepped away, took
away her skin, 
gathered up her layers
and returned.

Sunday, April 4, 2010


Another spoon of sugar,
another spoon of rice.

One more cup of this, 
one more glass of that.

Ounce for ounce 
and pound for 
pound -

Eat.  It helps.

Monday, March 29, 2010


Red lips, matching shoes;
A gust of blonde hair,
a cigarette.
She pulls her jacket 

Mondays are the
worst - school.
Tuesdays she gets
off work early.
Wednesdays, Thursdays, 
fill in the blanks. 
Falls in love with Fridays.
Saturdays are an affair, 
Sundays are the breakup.

A light drizzle, 
rainy fog, 
her bus pulls up.
Today she'd be 

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

5 O'Clock

Cars, cars, cars,
an endless line of postwork pearls. 

Buzz, buzz, buzz, 
rows of gleaming headlights. 

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, 
smooth downhill streams. 

Home, home, home, 
and then back up again. 

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Little Things.

You wake up as a little thing.
You go to school as a little thing. 
You go to work as a little thing. 
You go to sleep as a little thing.

You work on little things.
You keep little things. 
You hold on to little things. 
'Cause it's the little things that count. 

A Moment.

A shared cigarette
    on the balcony.
Words falling between
    them like ashes
whisked away with 
   a sigh and a simple gesture.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Supposed to.

Spring  is supposed to be a fresh start 
after a long, bleak winter.
Supposed to.
Nature is supposed to start anew;
snow melts, blossoms bloom.
Supposed to.
Creatures are supposed to return, 
to shed their winter coats. 
Supposed to.
Sunshine is to supposed to warm, 
our limbs, our hearts.
Supposed to.
As when the leaves turned, 
as when the year turned, 
we're supposed 
to start 
Supposed to.