Not strange with myself,I am at odds withthis chair & the warm airrising from the pavementoutside the window.Let me sit here, figure outwhat I am about.Nameplate enough foridentity, feet soreenough for reality.Trace the field of cosmic dustin the wake of my creations,pieces of karma assembledwith invention, inserted witha twist & hook into the matrix.Move at... Continue Reading →
When they lived seaside,soft, warm surface, hard, colddepths, they floated inmoon pull, wind push,womb-held, soul-soothed.The prairie is different,stretched taut over earth,touch burned, eyes seared,loam-darkened moist,fissure-lightened dry.The prairie is indifferent,fed by lightning, wildfire.When they chose to livehard-tack-land, they sank, like stones into prairie. More from this Author Read More in Poetry
