Archive for Original


Broken like a habit
Fragile pump
Lost its prime
Or never had it.


night depth

“the depths of night” is a cliche,
but a deep one, well-deep and
dark the alkaline echoes plink
from below, somewhere, deep
in the night.

paradox of motion

the eastern edge of tomorrow
rolls toward my bedroom
under a quiet zenith
at a thousand MPH but
so remote, still, stationary.

night noises

how many of the ghosts
in the hallway
when we’re children
are our parents creaking by,
and when we’re old?

6:05p sky

during my drive home from
the sky, dangling its clouds
and birds, is a blue brightness,
a shallow color, a tint
expressing the delicate resiliency
of everyedgewhere the void pulls at,
against gravity history and sense.

no hot ashes

No red feather
In the cinders

No smoldering
flame recoalescing

No ignition
or recognition

No hot ashes
Tuning grey.


starfish clutching to stones
in dark cold tides
don’t dwell on their
solitary lots–in life, in
tidal darkness, in
the buffeting clamor
of breakers breathing.