And in this Brutal Passage
He came out of the gray huddle,
an avalanche of a man,
broken and vast, without forgiveness.
He knew spit and strike,
choke and an eternal bad morning,
Category / Poetry
The History of Fog
When his mirror broke, he replaced it
with a book: ‘The History of Fog’
and stood in the cold March surf
of his imagination, hoping to drown
from the ankles up. Years earlier
Continue reading… "The History of Fog"Polamalu Fan Club
circle of sandwiches and half-smoked cigars–
Friday night dinner with the
Polamalu Fan Club. The playing cards are all
Worn on the edges, and the
Flour Sack Towels
I wasn’t born in Brooklyn,
or Boston, or San Francisco, or
somewhere equally as interesting
with its well-storied, cobblestone
streets and brownstones. I was
Inheritance
Sometimes you sit on a patch
of deadening grass
overlooking the river
and wonder
what it would feel like
Plow Horse
A steady giant, dappled
graying. Turning grass
into narrow furrows. Boy
leaning with all his weight
works his father’s fields.
Memento Mori
It is time for putting away – and yet,
An aura lingers over a photograph,
A card or two.
Of himself, there is hardly a sign;
Red roses in the vase blacken
A Little Green
I hoped to burst into leaf
(Having read it worked for her)
My toes sunk deep into brown carpet,
Arms branching toward the ceiling –
Twice Unlucky in Love
Twice unlucky in love, Grace
never said a word about the dazzling blue tumors
bubbling in her stomach.
Proud Ohio stock, she disbelieved in doctors.
No hospital, no morphine.
Career Change
The air is gamy and thick.
My skin slick blisters
with sweat. Mosquitoes
drone in a ditch. Dragons
fly above a murky Mekong,