Smoke on a Cloudy Night


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Tonight, I wish

I still smoked. My brain

And body vibrate

With late spring’s promise

And I want my hands

And heart to be busy.

Each pore could be filled

With smoke, like a beehive,

Settling my desire, my heat,

Abating the humid atmosphere

That seeks my envelopment.



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20190430_195029.jpgBones grind to high heaven

like an unholy ferris wheel

and I am caught, a piece

of fabric, frayed and flapping

against the wind. A prayer

of quiet in the joints

and knuckles that are white-hot

with their crackling. They

talk to me and speak of

the limestone and dirt from which

I am made, the steps I’ve taken

and the sleep I will soon take.

Eonic Botanic


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Sunflowers turn their head

slowly, as if August’s heat

has given them a life

much slower than time.

This seems right- they are

backyard watchmen, peering

over my neighbors fence

and greeting the surly dogs

that live to the south.

Making believe that

they are simple flowers

and that their agenda

is not to outlast us all.

On rotation


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Things that keep me writing and thinking about writing…

Indecent by Paula Vogel

I saw this play a few days ago, performed by a top notch local theatre and I cannot get it out of head. I experienced some unique and truly indescribable feelings as I watched it unfold.

Fucking rabbits

They ate through a viburnum, two holly bushes, the lower part of an arbor vitae and uprooted tubers and bulbs. The harsh winter pushed them to the brink like it did everyone else. I curse them and love them in the same breath.

The Return of Spring by Bouguereau


It’s spring!


The Return of Spring


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I bloom when I speak,

When the rain beats the windows,

When I recline in the sun.


I bloom, if you remember,

When you ask, who is the artist-

The one who teaches the future.


I bloom when I nap,

Softly breathing, dreaming beneath

A tartan print blanket.


I bloom at night, reading

The words of someone else,

Lit brightly and warmly.


I bloom with righteousness

And anger and peaceful

Resignation and absolute resolve.


I bloom to the tune,

Your humming, the record as it spins

Time and joy our way.


I bloom with the lights out,

All in, no looking back, freed

For a brief time.


I bloom atop metaphor, trailing

Words, eating them as sugar,

Heaping them into my skirt.


I bloom with oil in my mouth

And strawberries on my lips.