Temporary (Permanent)

(photo credit to Robert Couse-Baker via flickr) I'd just been down the street helping Justin. He was (shirtless) that kid in the neighborhood who was nice to everyone, so I offered to help him fix his bike. He asked me to (stop staring at him) grab the little oil can from the garage. It was unusual to find …



1. The tectonics shifted inside the cupboard next to my head. I don’t remember a click or a pop; I just knew that something in the air was different, like sadness entering a conversation through the threshhold of a word. Splinter. Freefall. 2. Broken. Pieces. Then glasses of all sizes flew around the room. No …

The Living-

there are black holes in the living- room, mostly beneath the furniture, but one is always underfoot the largest clings to the cotton knit blank- et though I’ve washed and shaken it out there are black holes in the living one naps beside the wandering night- stand sucking in the light that normally fills the …

In One Breath

A cop informed me that my son was both homosexual and dead. Shot at a bar he had apparently haunted. “Will you accept the body?” the cop asked. A thousand bats’ wings pulsed inside me before I said "No."


Red oak leaves circled the edge of the parking lot next to Ben’s head. He watched them swirl in mid-air like cardinals, zigzagging from hedge to fence to light post; all of them seemed to be searching for anything but him. A few leaves finally gave in and fell to the crowning his bleeding head. They didn’t …

The Clumsy Giant

Heifers mooed and eagles screeched outside my cottage. Everyone in the kingdom was traveling by cowback or hawkback to my quaint hamlet of Daragh to attend the Spring Dance. I prepared for the event automatically, scrubbing the dirt from my feet in the lake, using a scythe and the reflection on the water to shave …


Poets pine for my touch. Choreographers claim that I am a walk in the woods. Musicians mistake their soulmates for me. Fools. I am that green-aproned siren in the café down the street; I am that tendril of steam rising from the mug she holds.  

Another Rain

I have yet to find a summer rain that falls on me like your gaze but each storm reminds me of you I hoist a cheap black umbrella only when the sky is cloudless only when the trees are thirsty only when the pavement is slick with sunlight