Wherever I walk is without
consequence. Skid Row,
alleyways, abandoned
lots of Walmarts. I was a kid
just wandering.
Believing I was in
the Mark Strand
poem. I thought
the absence of field
was wherever
I occupied.
I’ve learned
this is not true.
The absence
of field is everywhere.
But my way of
living
is not the world.
(originally published in Perceptions Magazine, Spring 2022)
Gruesome scarecrow bore into me, wicked carrot limbs, dried snowman. This farm is seeped with the blood of the farmers but the cows are all right. Have you seen a cow’s smile? It crumples the yellow Mississippi into a zagged horseshoe. Forever we’ll remember the first game we played. The hoof felt like hardened slabs of discount deli turkey, art deco. No one won. No one is winning. The larger the city, the truer this fact. You can almost feel the weight of a tower’s collapse in its shadow, bogged shirt. Hemp gravel lines. I see the kinetic potential of kindergarten, a kinder garden than which you cribbed your tomatoes in, so stabbed by the wanderlust deer. We dug those tiny crevices with conveyor shovels. Wickets, wickets, and did the terrain ever grow out of itself like the work of man– ah, did it ever.
(originally published in Ping Pong, October 2015)
We remain afloat
on the phone
without laughter.
Positive-negative
television signals.
There were days when bees
could pollinate petals
without seeming drunken.
Some flowers simply
sing of cabernet.
Pursue the laurels
inherent in your heart.
Forever we say we lived.
(originally published in Blue Skirt Productions – June 2015)