Sunday, January 28, 2007


Once inside the mist gathers
investigating the singular, its velvet passing

in this neck of sun some blossom mourns
I’ve known hopes crushed, still the depth of margins murmurs

what I cannot say thickens like approaching sleep
but a wall runs along my mind

the firm ring of memory
a wreath of saviors

If the present moment
has already happened, this excerpt tunnels

image of white saxophones playing taps
a blindfold caves in

some city, bleached and perfect
pause breathe think

My eyes fill with tears
I’m sensitive as an old typewriter
families bark in minivans
chopping down the shadows

I rooted for the ants I read about technology
the carnage just sits there from tomorrows news and

deserves a massive parking ticket

when will someone notice me
for being so allusive

the source of this "wisdom"
The denouement was

pages of strange velocities

tell them that
maintaining leaves me
certain that words have claws.

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