Refuse/d words built into infinite forms of bodies. This collection is unedited; done in one sitting; sometimes daily, frequently infrequent.

Thursday, March 31, 2011


he eats peanuts out of his pocket
using his fingers big and bruising
shucking salt nuts like nothing,
like habit.  

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Mr. Modica's wake

waking waking one hand
shaking the wax shoulder
of a being once breathing.
Beneath the coffin, a
profusion of flowers
whets noses like
strangled and careful

Friday, March 25, 2011


Mothers wringing
hands beneath eaves waiting
and listening to the town
talking low toned and talking cool
            and daughters ducked and abstaining
            from being properly deceptively new.

Sunday, March 20, 2011


rounds around the gym
for fighter conditioning
placement repeating punch
in switch combinations the
numbered beating repetition
of praying, counting, breathing
reaching to the 1-2 basic
pounding against everything
against the day, against death,
with death and finally
tirelessly, I am free
and I breathe raw
and sink beneath the
buffer between each
part of me. 

Thursday, March 17, 2011


of grocery
cut loud
and clean,
on the empty

deep decline

sliding down
a muddied hill
with heels locked,
with nails scraping,
and searching upwards
the sweet last light of the world.

Monday, March 14, 2011

ground technique

I had a dream I am
in a house like a
maze and I am
running up
and down hallways
opening and closing
doors, jumping down
flights of stairs.
When I wake up
I am exhausted
and my covers are
on the floor
and for the first time
all winter
heat drips from
the radiator.
All over my room
pieces of clothing
hang like fallen leaves
eerie in the half light
one more morning
wet and gray
in this fruitless
boundary between.
Sitting up I
remember other
parts of other dreams
which reach into things
ladle out insides
make you crave
a physicality
that could kill you.
I lift and set down
my coffee cup
more than necessary
feel the warmth
like a creature
The spoon is a
metal tool
as basic as a hammer
newspaper with steady
newsprint no snaking
living lines creeping
and making me consider
my location,
making me imagine
a house like a maze
and me running
until I hit the bed rock
in the basement-
until I see the furnace
burning and beating,
howling with
moving picture.

Friday, March 11, 2011


I took the bus to the beach
on a Wednesday night
in the winter

I stayed in an empty house
and still heard
old conversations

The wind blew
through the skin trees
worn with the cold

The picture window was black
but I was picturized
for Bill next door

that night was fitfull
full of misplaced
Thinking on centuries
of single days
Filling like quick

the next morning
I walked on the beach
and collected

white, wide shells to save
and held them against
my belly

I watched the sand ripple
and change
with rivulets of winter sea

and in front of me
was a gray seal

I breathed in
and stood still
an old friend
in the kelp
and frozen foam

creatures both of us
alone and real
for a moment myth
fills us

and vanishes
him into the waves
and me into the wind
and wet grit

Thursday, March 10, 2011


The planet
         on a long plain
                  stretching its last light

(The most honest ends are the trading illumination of cycles
No clutter, no noise, crescent practicality, soft shadow punctuality)

What god isn’t made of heavy heat and the deepest of stone wells?