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

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


ancestral blood let
wonder woman
might beating
the flood with
children that
pound the earth, first.

Sunday, May 22, 2011


I never fly in my dreams
Outright like a bird or superhero
I rink a dink rumble into the sky
In a miniature green airplane
Like a character in a cartoon.


Taking a break from writing
Results in a day of laboratory
Thinking. Testing the sound taste
And determining theoretic hypothetic
Rules to live by. It takes me a few tries
At the same experiment to dissolve
Down the sugar pills and get to the
Real. Medication like blessings,
Reaching inward through the spider
Tangles the seeping tree vines
Themed and labeled into sink jars. 


What is the
exigence in the
floating circle of the
rhetoric chasms compounding the
inordinate amount of mashed words in the
sweet sour bucket of none sense that expresses me sometimes?

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


I am perfect

The spindle
of my machine
ticks like
meant- to- be
making material
to weave with.

I can sustain

All things like
a delta,
a bleeding river
of sweetened soil.

I am nothing

The tiny spaces
between atoms
until my matter
to a few spots
of ember

And sometimes
I am everything

the wind, steam
and brick, raw
and domestic
the dirt and drapes
constant and
and everything


is true.


Looking back at old work
does not please me.

The gods in our bellies change
as they do their infinite studies.

Their understanding
widens like a mouth-
a canyon yawning into completion.

Monday, May 9, 2011


how many prayers I put up
on a cluttered cork board
papers of words fluttering
like frantic wings pinned
until they resemble nothing
not my breath
not my close wish
just a thought,
detached and soaked
in melancholy.

Saturday, May 7, 2011


Sitting next to my grandmother
with an unreadable box of letters
was the most tragic thing at Christmas.

We sipped soup
and ate strukli
at the tiny table

with the snow falling hard all around
the veranda and my socks drying
on the radiator.

The radio goes,
plain and serious,
the evening news is in
and I am sitting with
my whole self

the relief
of places
warm, slow
and shared.  


Are the deepest roots
of the oldest trees
the fingertips of God
or a riddle?


my fingers produce
minute vicissitudes
on your skin:
a porous
and perfect
material to
signal with. 


You will need to
anneal your skin
with irascible memories,
the stinging
cut tugs of experience.
Only then will your body
be unburnable,
even while the Earth
shatters to potsherds. 


I am pretty sure
Tofu Pups
Are worse than
Any squishy
Ammonia meat
Produced in the
Heartland of America.

Their rubbery existence
Makes me sigh
With snobbery.
Why shape soybeans
To resemble
Your moral dilemma?


I wonder what yellow ghosts
Linger in limbo
beneath the stairs.

Do they breathe the dust
And blow out like bulls?


like a callithump,
a jumble of prizes, colors
and noises, a jungle of images embellishing.


Cooking with thin grease
snapping at wet potatoes
just sliced and salted.
Cool salad and the cicadas
going and going
in the late haze.
Finally, cevapi
ground up and grilled
after being to the butcher
only once the whole summer.
And the sincerity
of being alone
the deep breath
of womanhood.


Digging while dirt-covered
we become the dirt digging itself
into and out of its own hole.


Working through fear
is a swampy trip
into the green frizz
of the memory maze
that settles in the brain;
Mustard gas residue
from the great war of
stuttering adulthood.


You are new,
A peaceable diplomat
Some kind of advocate
For the place I could inhabit.
You create an apartment
Where I stay for a few minutes
Each day and start to understand
What things I could have
If I could be
A better me.

Be patient with your briefcase
the hardness of myself is rustic
the oldest oak waiting
in the whistling whips
of sapling-thin pith.  



the washing wetting wielder of health.


I depend on an unusual budget
Of space and time and words:
a wallet swelling into whole
countries of infinite richness.


Elasticity, the gum stretch
of puttied people
wearing, wearing until the
muscled arms and legs
twist and pull,
mangle and melt.


A heaving heaven:
the ironworks of depreciating cities

the long wait of living
of moving and feeling frequent
feeling famous in the criss-cross of human crosswalks.