Tag: 2024

In Spite of

ever blooming wounds we are light sleepers nowI’ve known rivers older than any veins I’ve heard the Nile roar in Bible lessonsI’ve heard the Mississippi flood its mudin history textbooks;the rivers grow us no matter whatdeath upbraids the fleshthe seas save our soulsif we meet disaster and hold onlavender wildflowers return meto a myth that doesn’t exist yet desire... Continue Reading →

In Red Lodge, Montana

There’s a hidden mountain roadto a geology camp that localsknow to drive on clear nights,to the lookout point.City lights blink like stars,form a grid, irregular at the edges.We stayed in a cabinthat summer—the last Dad was ok.Sometimes I go back there,to see the world, smaller. Read More in Poetry...

The Train

I was hungry that morning;he began making something to eat,but he really was not in the moodfor more dirty dishes.And, all he could say wasthat he had not slept very well, andthat I should just get out.So I got out,and outside,the temperature had dropped below zero.Though I could not help but look back,my hand was... Continue Reading →

Teaching Him How to Two Step, Again

Parkinsons, a repulsive pantheonparked over us, like a thick and fat pissing dogan imminent edict: time’s tapped out,slimy-slug slap,a snot dialed p-a-u-s-e.Hell’s hiatus, let’s be honest,before actual death then Jesus. Butin between off-course and confusion,apparitions and imaginary dial ups,short term memory on sempiternal sabbatical,I see, and sweetly so, he still likesto drink and dance, the... Continue Reading →

Downtime

I’m old now. It’s been many years since I first realized I was not like other people. That realization was rather shocking since we are raised to believe that everyone is pretty much the same, we’re cut from the same cloth, and we see the world in pretty much the...

My Grandfather’s Hand

My grandfather’s hand was a leaving song;it was cold, like my mother’s kitchenwhen the utensils languished in idleness.Lines ran through it like a crumbling labyrinth,a million slanting roots of plants and vegetables,which he caressed and spat on open wounds,and wounded souls during his hay days,when he was the masses’ healer, their hero.He looked at me,... Continue Reading →

Labryinth

I don’t believe in losing hope.I believe in finding itperhaps by making pestoor deadheading iriseswhen I can be surroundedby what’s still alive:my garden, defying a childhoodframed in the gutter’s littertossed newspapers soaked in rain,smudged in dog shit. The dead-endstreet around the corneroffered paradise—an empty lotwith flowering weeds.Was that a lossof hope? Or a graspingfor what... Continue Reading →

Page 2 of 22
1 2 3 4 5 … 22
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. ...
  10. 22

Up ↑