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It’s the mirror you don’t look into, the one without the morals, emotions, doubts and fears. - How much wisdom do you gain in confronting your older self, tailing it thru a city of statues and bridges, fighting with it in the catacombs amidst an audience of smiling skulls? - You have trained to be…
Read More "Gemini Man (A poem loosely inspired by the movie)"
She always knew that Oz was a one-time voyage lasting until the red shoes dancing on and on cracks the golden road, wears it to dirt dreams, her tired legs collapsing into poppy fields, pills, her voice singing on and on in the fall until hoarse, silent and invisible. - She sings because she’s a…
The cold blows north and the city falls into the cycles of a leafless world. It feeds off the brick, licks the shoes, tastes the cotton of jackets, gnaws hands clutching the last warmth of summer close to their heart, cuddling its last embers, huddling to the next soul with faint fires when it goes…
Our marriage is old enough to vote now and on this our porcelain anniversary I vote “Yes, I do,” over and over again. A score of fine filigree plates I will gift us, two broken to match the fragile times, the eighteen days past the towers fall when we married amidst grief and joy.…
Rapid City wears its patriotism like a shroud. Corner streets are populated with less than life-size statues of past presidents squinting at the distant Black Hills where the grandeur of Mt. Rushmore casually crumbles their bronze dreams. Wax settlers, loggers and gold miners stake claims with souvenir hunters touring a mine, panning for fool’s…
Each launch begins with a prayer until I have a puncture, a rip, a tear. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! I am always falling either to the earth or to the stars, falling forward to God the Father or father to son. To survive I move in the vacuum between calm heartbeat and silent in-breath, …
The lightness of paper soft enough to crumble to a chirping palm ball released into the air, an imagined perfect pitch, too gossamer to float to its ultimate arch, unfolding in the web of alluring sunshine aspiring to be in its unfolding angles a thread of silk caught into the patterns of a…
I collect the death masks of everyone I see, many ready with their mouths turned to the earth, eyes closed tight in hellish denial. Except for L’Inconnue de la Siene pulled from the river in utter peace, lovely as Ophelia floating in the reeds, the resuci Anne of two centuries of death and resurrected respirations. Her…
Death, I notice, often comes with a smile and a kiss, a tender tuck of blanket into legs, a pull to the shoulders making shroud complete, a tender whispered secret. “Good bye” or “Good life”, it might be saying. But so does love. 2 The light of the cancer center is…
