Saturday, December 31, 2011


old calendar… 
a museum of Mayan 

Your Name

Your Name

It is time
for me to crack open
my skull,
see what’s inside,
invent a new way of looking at things. 
I know I am dying
but why should that make
a difference?
People die one day at a time.

I shall build a house
that will stand forever,
with a smile folding at the corner
of my mouth, and a star sitting
on my tongue
like a stone around which
your name blossoms

Saturday, December 24, 2011


old calendar …
I let the dead sleep
as they deserve

Sunday, December 18, 2011

For the days when the lights switch on and off by themselves

For the days when the lights switch on and off by themselves

and all the voice messages are from enemies
or other people
Only the good old days
between verses
we have already written
For the fruit of fear in each December
Will this be the year
earth refuses
to forgive us with a blush of green
For the assumptions
of next winter’s chill
and for the quiet days in between
Your face mingled
in the poinsettias
after a brief rain  


waning moon
trying to touch
what matters

Thursday, December 15, 2011

On my Bed Thinking About You

On my Bed Thinking About You

If I could touch
without hurting you
I would run all the way to the river
and back. 
But nothing has changed.

You are voiceless,
in some long-forgotten childhood
hiding place,
a dark jungle where every tree
looks like every other tree.

I long for your scent,
your knees pushing against
my thighs,
but what is asked for is often destroyed
by the very words that seek it.

My bed is a fossilized prison
where I learn to make love to you forever.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


window shopping…
the conversations we won’t 
be having


shrouded moon— 
feeding a chicken 
to the boa

Tuesday, December 13, 2011


For Yorelys

Beaten, raped, and murdered,
our child lies in a coffin
brutally deserted.
What monsters with nightmares
hidden in their eyes
do things like this?

Neither day nor night
can heal her now.
Soon the heat will fuse
her lurid eyes 
to diamonds
her sullen tongue
to quartz.  

Then she will fly
and never bleed again. 

Saturday, December 10, 2011



A dark jungle, 
looking like a dark jungle,
is where I am never quite myself.
I don't want to trip 
over its silence.

I don’t want a life apart 
from the pain I conceal 
from portions of myself,
from your voice crying 
to someone else 
come play in the rain, love.
This is not the same summer rain.

Our first season of separation
I counted dead roses 
in the back yard.
I didn't write our names on the mailbox.
You couldn't listen to my dreams.
I couldn't question yours.

The scars are there. 
I don’t know how many years I spent 
trying to forget, afraid of how many years 
I spend trying to remember.

Friday, December 09, 2011


a hawk builds its nest 
in a windy place

Thursday, December 08, 2011


new year’s morning...

the hawk builds its nest 
in a windy place



My eyes are rehearsing
for when the winter solstice ends.
As the light wanes I see
what I thought was reluctance covering
my face.  I want to expand
every moment into an emotional chemistry
that includes the smell and texture of
every lover I’ve had.
But the solstice is ending,
old recalled lovers who look
like glasswing butterflies
stretched across other summers
find the pot of gold at the end
of my rainbow.

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

A Litany for Survival

A Litany for Survival
For A.L.

An elephant walked into my bedroom
reciting a litany for survival  
She spoke about her brown mother
and sister having died too many deaths
that were not their own 
She spoke about redemption
and a new religion
She spoke about winter people
taking off their blood masks
and monuments for the children of war
She spoke about hunger and blind feet
trying to find their way to the sun
She spoke about a greedy black unicorn
that was not free
She spoke about having two faces
and a frying pan to cook up her daughters
She spoke about two men with stone eyes
making love in the hallway
they were lying like felled maple
Soon the hallway was covered
with these beggars
and I couldn’t pass over them
Perhaps I wasn't meant to survive

Monday, December 05, 2011

Caetano Veloso

Published Haiku

fading light…
the steady thrum of rain
on the windows

plowed earth…
bullet-riddled boys
littering the streets

vacant sky—
a graveyard angel rising
above the pebbles

hurricane season…
the severed branches
still green

autumn rain...
I collect my thoughts
and turn a page

moonlight moiré …
autumn waves foam
on the sand

shoulder to shoulder
we stand at his wake...
autumn rain

boarding windows
the hurricane moves closer
to my island

autumn twilight...
crossing the river
stone by stone

sloping hills
now and then
a crow caws

Sunday, December 04, 2011

At the End of Night

At the End of Night

I exist
to be conquered
I, set against all other I’s,
even nature, am a stillborn
poem taken out
of  my mother’s pain. 
Once I was immortal
beside the sea
condemned to endless mornings,
empty of the knowledge
of manmade rituals
until out of my mouth that knows
came the shape I was seeking
for reason.  
Now I am lost among 
the stiff trees.

Saturday, December 03, 2011


autumn deepens …
the taste of rain
and sunset

Friday, December 02, 2011

To the Survival of Lizards

To the Survival of Lizards

Call me
Narcissus for I complain
of being lonely
call me what I miss
whatever it is
call me lizard and arrogant  
nightmare on your blood moon
your itch to destroy
the indestructible
faces of important men.

Call me diseased
with problems of original sin
because of my worries
call me your myth of father
and son
your determination
in the most conceited image
within me
for I am you
in your most moral
scuttling through the cracks
created to admit me
in your living rooms
my honor
comes with your hate
by imitation
and your refusal
to live on.


red moon 
summer falling away 
from the trees

Thursday, December 01, 2011

That Side of a Shade of Sorrow

That Side of a Shade of Sorrow

My daily crucifixion
is to be alone.  
My voice has that side of a shade
of sorrow,
it is calcified.  Perhaps from the anger
of both
my father and I. 
I dream incessantly
about us working in unison,
but my dreams
eventually turn into nightmares. 
I just realized
my home
is not his house
I am free to come
and go as I please.  The altar
has fallen,
and I shall learn to conquer yes.  
I never loved you,
so free me
before I destroy us.

Blog Archive