By the second week I learned that Texans sweat as much as the French, and swear even more, that you couldn’t fight one twin without taking on the other. But the librarian would slip me the choicest donated fiction, and I played baseball every day in the vacant lot until sundown called the players home to black… Read More Bonjour, Texas: Summer 1966
orange roses the aisle full of song white roses the bath full of reverie petals crush under our weight and i smell like roses. Write your own here.
How do I miss thee? Gasp! Let me count the ways. I miss thee to the deep, the space, and skies My soul can reach as I strain for my prize, For the ends of thought and ideal phrasings. I love thee with the ease of every day’s vernacular In most quiet need to velvet… Read More Ode To My Blog
If I could I would gather all the words from the wild, pick them like berries and press them into these pages to bleed them, beautiful, into my notebook I would chase syllable streams that refresh dry banks and stop. at the quarry where I will cut confused hands on stone, going… Read More I Would Gather All The Words
this epicurean sea of wildflowers and opus white blossoms stirs beneath a rising day she spills seminal secrets as the bees and winds drive pollen grains and promise past the velvet parting into stigma and style with the marksmanship of knowing. this field, voluminous womb, awash with prose drinks the sun that climaxes overhead. a… Read More field of words
Make me cry Make me wonder Give me chills, my assumptions sunder. Make me bellyache and slap my lap, not wince. Convince me you’re the real deal. Mix me a drink Hold the sugar. I have expensive taste, please – richer, fuller Teach me something high or low, so much I don’t know We don’t… Read More I Challenge You
under a scant sun winter throws his brume of snow. fields lie vanquished in lambent splendor and robed in frost, trees stand in mute glory under his imperial breath creation covets the hearth her haven, barren slumber: a bold consummation of autumn’s bounty the earth waits, a sleeping beauty ’til spring breaks upon the white… Read More Sleeping Beauty
He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my… Read More But He, Being Poor, Has Only His Dreams
i chew the leaves of my poem they fan green and spirited in the height of their hour veins visible like these that inscribe my hand, run with the life of dreams that have nowhere to go but back down to the branch to the root you don’t see look: their asymmetry of being red… Read More the leaves of my poem
A Holistic Journey 