August 10, 2012

Remember the pain that healed you most and that

the fall from the highest mountain is the most



How do you visualize an advancing army?

How do you form a symbiosis and a dream?


Like a cancer.

Like a virgin.


What matters?

What doesn’t?


Ask the badger and the coyote sharing a kill.


I am letting the rain fall on the new blue paint –

what is your relationship to difficulty?


free verse
May 31, 2011

Living is for this

I have emptied myself too perfectly
of every last childhood reminiscing to be alive,
and as each raindrop falls onto my tin roof,
I am drifting further out to sea
on the puddles welling up in my front lawn
and on the water filling the potholes of my long driveway,
and soon the grass will be completely underwater
and I will walk barefoot through the mud
and let earth push itself between my toes
so that I can feel how the earthworms live.
I have emptied my self of my humanity,
and I don’t want it back because
as I was dreaming while lightning broke the night sky open,
the devil came to me in my sleep
and told me that he tried to cry out
and leave every trace of horror behind
and live in paradise and destroy himself
and care for nothing but the patterns of monarch butterfly wings
but life held him back because what are we
without something to struggle against?
But I am done with suffering.
I have turned in my ticket to the afterlife,
and I have renounced all my humanity
that was tied up in every moral wishing for better
because I am done struggling
against every unseen evil that lies nascent
in the sharp stones of my driveway –
the evils that lie waiting underneath
the tongues of the eight-year-olds
who have known too much for their age
and will let it all loose
when the adults have left to commit their own sins,
but I have emptied myself of the concept of sin.
I give up my guilt.
Guilt is for nothing.
Guilt is for making us feel like we cannot be human,
and so I have given up on being human.
Let me be an animal without words.
Let me live with my toes in the mud.
But oh my God,
how I love to sing.

May 22, 2011

I’ve been working on this song for a while, and I think I’ve finally gotten the lyrics out of their awkward phase.  That being said, they read like song lyrics, not like a poem (in my opinion), so keep that in mind.  I would highly suggest just making up your own tune so that you can sing them, actually, and hopefully I’ll make a video in the near future so that I can share the music as well as the lyrics.

Dirt roads

I am a gardener,
my calloused hands are never clean.
My knees are always green with grass stains;
my ways are not fit for your fast lanes,
but come on, come see me.

Why don’t you take a ride in your fast car
and amble on down to the countryside?
I’ll give you seeds for your window box;
come see me, I’ll open up all the locks
for you, just gotta come here, dear, to me.

Hey there, my city dweller,
climb up out of your urban cellar.
I’ll be your sunshine,
and I’ll be your April rains.
I’ll be all of your springtime flowers;
I’ll liven your life for all of your hours
if you would just come see me.

Come on, take a ride in your fast car,
just take your sweet time
cause I’m really not that far
away, today, you’ll see me.

I’ll give you blueberries, apples, and kisses.
I promise this country will grant
all of your wishes.
I’ll be your summer shade,
and I’ll be your backyard creek
if you’d just come see me this week.

I’ll be your sunshine,
and I’ll be your August storms.
I’ll be every one of your summer flowers;
I’ll liven your life for all of your hours
if you would just come see me.

free verse
April 16, 2011


Tell me I’m a windmill.
Tell me that you know my design
and how nature was meant to move me.
Tell me you know the words to say
so that I will turn exactly the way I’m supposed to.
Tell me that you can move me in the wind of your breath,
then prove it.
Speak the words that have been welling up inside your lungs
like storm clouds.
I am not afraid of your bad weather,
and that’s saying something,
because they could name hurricanes after you.
But instead I am calling every flower by your name
and kissing every petal that opened after your rains.
I am licking every rain drop off my skin
and I can taste you in all of them.

Tell me I’m a library.
Tell me that my soul is lined with Shakespeare.
Tell me that you want to check out all of my volumes
and read them in the dark under a sheet with a flashlight.
Tell me that when I breathe in my sleep
you hear pages rustling.
Tell me that you have walked between my bookshelves
and have found the back corner where I hide all the stories
that no one is allowed to read,
then read them.
Read me and speak my own words to me so that
I know that you know who I am.

Tell me who I am,
because some days I forget that I have memorized my own lines,
and I feel like a foreign country to myself,
and my fingerprints look like street maps
to cities that I have never visited.
But you have left footprints on all of my sidewalks,
so walk down my main street with me
and hold my hand and remind me of my self.
And when I remember the feeling of my own skin,
I’ll take you down my alleyways and past my city limits
and show you the creek in my backyard,
and we’ll catch minnows in plastic buckets with yellow handles
and whistle at barn swallows.

I’ll tell you I’m a cello.
I’ll tell you that you are making
every part of my being resonate
in swimming startime springlight music,
and I’ll tell you that if you bring a bow
and if your hands know what to do,
you can tune me by ear
and play me by heart.

March 10, 2011


Hydrogen and Oxygen go well together.
They stopped caring about man-
made things with their first rain puddle on the concrete.
And even after years past counting, they are still making love
and trying to figure out how to make rain fall up.
They want not to lie about in puddles on spring evenings.

Their existence is so different from our quiet evenings,
their bond not quite like the way we are together,
even though we are made mostly of the same stuff as rain, being human,
even though on summer nights, to feel the left over heat, we lie down on the sidewalk concrete.
Because I do not say what I have for you is love,
but I am lying next to you every early morning I wake up.

Hydrogen and Oxygen are flying up.
They are dancing through all the evenings
of their lives.  They are lying with their heads together
in the cold nights when they are far away from all things human
and when they have left everything but themselves lying on the concrete.
They are wandering wild and are everything, in love.

Hydrogen and Oxygen are in love,
always.  They know the up-
ward feeling of their bodies evaporating from tea kettles on Sunday evenings
when they can’t help but be together.
They are embracing and dripping off of maple leaves, and, when no human
is looking, leaving dappled raindrop footprints in the concrete.

We never drew our initials in drying concrete;
we never thought to shrink wrap and flash freeze our love.
What we have is not so much a giving up
as a settling in – into our little life worn couch cushion on Sunday evenings
when we can’t help but be together –
when we can’t help but breath together and be human.

In the cold nights when we are far away from all things human
and when we have left everything but ourselves lying on the concrete,
let us wander wild and be everything, in love.
Let us fly up.
Let us dance through all the evenings
of our lives.  Let us lie with our heads together.

Hydrogen and Oxygen are in love with being together,
and as we give ourselves up to the concreteness of our humanity,
they, without worry, let their evenings pass by.