The End of Things
So tired she
can barely pull
her suitcase
down the airport
Category / Poetry
Triolet for a Sailboat
You took us out in your hand-built, gaff-rigged sloop.
You showed us how to trim the jib, hoist sails,
tack into wind, or run through the rip-tides’ hoop.
You showed us the ropes on your hand-built, gaff-rigged sloop.
The Daily Wheel
I can’t deplane from the daily wheel,
grime glued to its ball bearings.
That wheel turns trapezoidally
and squawks louder than a thousand bats!
Discharge
When the war came,
it came to him in flashes,
abruptly, like something
convoluted
Instinct
You
do not love
what I love, yet
want to come into my body
and take possession of something
A Graphologist’s Nightmare
I have a gift. Yes, I can channel your living
mother by examining her handwriting.
No, she won’t feel a thing. A simple sample
is enough – a 3 X 5 recipe card will do . . .
Vagrant Waltz
It’s time in mid-summer
to think about nothing,
turn from ideas,
make ice cream instead,
float on a raft of popsicle sticks.
Prague
To the girl in a striped dress
standing by the side of the road
like a ladybug with painted lips
as trucks trumpet and honk
Seeing the Tree
We must be watchful,
sort out at any given moment,
the day’s disturbance from what
lies beneath and endures,
She Asked
Without knowing how,
she asked
with every part of herself she knew how to use.
She slept curled in a question mark