POEM A DAY 2019

Can’t not demand that

there’s no wasted life –

but maybe this arrangement

is stubborn for a reason

The impossible feat

of making ghosts cozy

the sound of the tape gun

a life’s work

Perched on the bed edge

grasping at exceptions

This training is in the hemming

raw silk silver lining

upholstery from dream houses

set on fire

How do you

welcome guests

boil water

hang sheets

find keys

extract splinters

tiptoe

serve

would you rather

be alone

sometimes I

still see her

driving away

yellow hair halo

solo dignity

cup balanced

on the dash

Obviously the DJs and the CEOS coordinate 
5 O’clock traffic jam

death wish inch worm community

polite, wild, free for a flash

at the 4 way stop

dying for a drink

electric coordinates

together in the crawl

uplifting cherry blossom radiance

of human sourced sound

make it home

in tact

Driving self through dust

to taste the glow

of minutia

carrying self

through sleeplessness

to dreamlessness

missing the exhaustion

of walking up the hill

full on blackberries

stained and strained

nonstop premonition gossip 

if I hang around this place

for long enough

then I become the offering

pinch of coffee grounds

at Ethiopian Jazz Starbucks

cement dust eucharist for the 

23^rd & Jackson construction zone

me in my coat , long past bedtime

this heavy desire for heavier bonds

loveliest creep
for hire.

Chump promenade.

Variations on kryptonite.

Family interstate odyssey:

her blood sugar, his heart rate

my sinuses. 

Ultra violet rays

in this china shop.

How are we all doing?

Whether it’s the good old boys

kissing customary in leather jackets,

haunted/bonded by the butterflies,

or just your old knowledge

arriving like a rash.

What will devolve, dissolve –

what shape will the puddle take?

Roscoe tried to warn us.
Divine guide dog too wild for this world.

He came to us all hurt and loving,

inspired New Jersey grandmother accents

to call him back from fields and fights.

That’s how bad and how good

he was.

I just learned that I’m all air,

and that conquest of space =

sacrifice of time.

I keep searching for time

as if it is a place.  

Like to relax – we like steps

(maybe 10,000).

But the buzz itself is fireproof,

or maybe it's in fire?

Heat’s magnet breeze,

that none space place

where gazing goes,

corralled by

humming dark.