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Drag Me Poem You drag me to this box again as if there is water in this well I look at my hands my palms I remember the color of the young Elvis in the video tonight, like a Monet painting he sang for me from the past. Is this the past and you are … Read more…

Cow Poem I used to feed the cows. I can still remember the smell of the molasses in the feed and the way the feed was warm sometimes and the way the cows were always there for it. Rounding the cows up in the field is memory itself. What is your call to get a … Read more…

My hands may not have enough to say. My tiny flowers may not bloom. My touch on these keys may mean only that the day has fallen fallen fallen into the evening sky, as if sublime, another day in a sea of days in a sea of moments like tiny flowers in a giant field … Read more…

My brother sends poems from heaven. He tells me to write about the dead rabbit on the road and how I moved him slowly into the ditch, how he came to rest beside the first daffodil of spring.

The if only poem and the why me poems always lead to the nobody cares poem so I’ll just put on my shoes and play some music, look out the window at the clouds. We have discouraged our last poet. What is this? Is it a cloud? Is it a waterfall? Is it a dream … Read more…

To state the obvious to send a prayer “protect her” to think of it floating upwards to think I’m not a mouse in a hole that bird looks so like the bird of my youth is it the same bird a mouse in a cave pretending divinity I can see the bird flying with my … Read more…

While you were waiting she was sleeping. While she was sleeping. I was wanting, yearning, without cigarrettes I have no perceived angst. Take the pill. These modern times go down with the pill. Why cry? The world will go on without your poetry. Why try, and yet trying is what you are about, going there, … Read more…

The common thread is that they were all rough drafted on audio tape while driving a Suzuki in the upper Himalayas up to the Maling Glacier on the Indo-Tibet road, in April 2005. They reflect one recurring string of thought, as is common when driving alone. They talk about Moscow, the mountains, the foothills “¦ … Read more…

The Shadow Returns A stranger here not knowing it’s a shadow appearing disappearing a skittish movie reel with shifting frames apologizing endlessly for trivialities. Sometimes speaking knowing that it’s slightly out of sync hoping to be heard erratic traveler never here nor there a shadow from another place. The light is somewhere else.

Oh we’ll keep doing it won’t we? As if anyone cared more than we, we paragons of virtue. Oh look at those in front of us for this weed, this plant, this maker of money, this earth medicine, whose very name we dare not say. Oh look at those in front of us They are … Read more…