This is where I begin,by tuning out to tune in,closing my eyes to the light,opening the cage of my imaginationfor imminent flight.All perceptions are suddenly ruled by rhythms,little flourishes of sound,things I can no longer see,and by this voluntary blindness, I’m unboundfrom what might otherwise be diminishedin this moving mosaic behind my eyelids.
Category Archives: Poetry
From The Back Of Beyond
I found inspirationbehind death’s door,within the walls of a musty roomon the ground floor,scattered amongst the tomesof displaced thought.From this cemetery of old booksrose a simple turn of phrasethat shook meout of my malaise,moved the handthat clutched the penuntil a shallow breath of lifewas breathed again.
Fishing
The thought I thought I’d lostsuddenly swam back to the surfaceof my mind one night.I shot out of bed,groped for the light,groped for a pen,but before I could find oneit flit away again.That slippery thoughtI’ve yet to hookinto the netof my nightstand notebook.But each night I cast my line once moreinto a dark sleepy pond,Continue reading “Fishing”
Dreamscape
The little yellow house on the hill,I saw it once in a dream that felt so real,though it’s a place I know I’ve never been.And what if I never have that dream again?Does such a place in the world existoutside of my own head?Somehow, I hope it does,and I hope to find youstill paddling forContinue reading “Dreamscape”
Night & Day
What is night but another burned-out dayclad in dancing shoes and a sleek black party dress,hair down, rife with life and drunken laughter,swaying gracelessly and uninhibited to the floor pulsing beats. Until at last, the music stops. The bands and the DJs pack up.The raucous voices gradually fade –the laughter, always the last to die,asContinue reading “Night & Day”
Proof
Just an old shed is left to standagainst the slow invasionof termites and weeds and time.The house is gone,and has been for years. Once I drove past where it used to beon my way to nowhere in particularand nearly drownedin a flash flood of memory. We lived in the apartment upstairswhere the fire was saidContinue reading “Proof”
Ascent
Once while standing at the base of a steep spiral staircase,a fever dream stole my equilibrium –the pinpoint of light above appearing like the tiny aperture at the end of a camera lens as my fluttering eyelids attempted to bring it into focus.Heights have never felt quite right, yet that bright white eye at theContinue reading “Ascent”
Industry
Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.There’s a dam in this riverwhere logs used to floatand jam up downstream,a rusting reminder of a once booming industry,like the billowing smokestack of the paper mill today, tainting our blue skies with toxic plumes of gray,the air stinking like shit whichever way the wind decides to takeContinue reading “Industry”
Opening Day
From where I sitit doesn’t feel much like baseball,but its opening anthems playwhile the slushy remainsof a dark cold seasonseep into storm drains.This soaking rain, when will it ever end?Meanwhile, in distant stadiumshope has been born again.Somewhere where the sun is mocking us,people are basking in its warmth,gathered in grandstandsin short-sleeves and caps,cradling popcorn, pretzels,hotContinue reading “Opening Day”
Your Letter
If it wasn’t for that letter you wrote,typewritten with a purple cat stickeron the front of the envelope,I might have lost hopein small miracles, might have forgottenthe feeling of receiving something otherthan sales flyers or bills.Of course, you could’ve senta plain old email instead,but that wouldn’t dobecause it wouldn’t be you.Then there was that poemContinue reading “Your Letter”
Ode To The Plastic World
This one’s for all the plastic cupsthat have parted my lips,the plastic forks I used to stabthe pasta salad with.For all the plastic budsI’ve jammed in my earsjust so I could hearthose countless playliststhat have sustained methroughout the years.For the little plastic card in my wallet.What’s in yours?Don’t leave home without it.For the hordes ofContinue reading “Ode To The Plastic World”
6 A.M.
Even the most terrible truth’saren’t so terrible at 6 A.M.Your eyes squint open to the ghost of a little thumbnail moon framed between two naked trees outside your windowas a seam of tangerine light is flaring out in the eastand your mind like the early sky is a clean empty canvas, untouched and untarnished byContinue reading “6 A.M.”
Haunted Avenues 