i go out alone ( Read more... )

my pen ambles without much resolve ( Read more... )

clad only in shadow ( Read more... )

a cool blue solace breathes on us ( Read more... )

winds knead the sea
as god exhales,

and our rowboat
becomes a baby's first steps.

for a few milliseconds
a light line divides the darkness

and then thereafter
thunderdrums crash.

(count the seconds between
to tell how near we are to chaos.)

i made my entrance ( Read more... )

the cavern opens
and the clouds blow in

my teeth stalactites
and stalagmites

and my tongue
is a writhing stream

then an airy echo
exhales softer, softer, softer still,

and my cavern swings closed,
gobbling greedily

the passion i once had
for spelunking, and music,

and poetry,
and something else i forget

a deep blue shadow ( Read more... )

what manner of life is this,
that artists cannot be artists
without a day job--

whoring unthinkingly by day
so we can give birth by night
to our compromised creations--

out stillborn paintings
and crippled ballets
and our limp and quiet poetry

These words you are reading ( Read more... )