Tag Archives: poem

Fifty-fifty clown

Posted on June 15, 2019 by

The crow’s wings are magician hands that flap and disappear through the swirl of animal souls and the gray marine layer of morning. The lake is gray too, ribbed by a breeze or by paddle boats, the same each day … Continue reading →

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The turning back spot before coming down

Posted on March 3, 2019 by

When the poem is done I let it take effect on me like a pill slid down my throat, waiting. And when at last you get to the top, when you’ve reached that place to stop and turn back, how … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Excavation of self, through rotten banana peels and skin

Posted on March 2, 2019 by

At last the smell that was really me came to bare, to fully express itself, as a piece of rotten fruit or uneaten meat, table scraps left to bloom in some dark, neglected space. A smell, an essence, of toxins … Continue reading →

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Weights

Posted on February 28, 2019 by

At this time of day, this time of year, the butterfly glows gold in the window of our den it’s hung by chains, framed, with dust in the old border and cobwebs strung to the window’s edge the butterfly is … Continue reading →

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Weltschmerz

Posted on February 27, 2019 by

I have grown tired from too much poetry and these everyday ironies, have sunken inwards, as a spot in our lawn that’s slowly turned to a hole, now something we’re forced to address, the frost level come up, the remains … Continue reading →

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The weight that won’t shake

Posted on February 13, 2019 by

After a week of snow it finally broke, and started to melt and with it sliding off the branches and dripping off the gutters it looked like the sky was crying, the earth collapsing in on itself and with the … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 18 Comments

Nowhere, slow

Posted on February 9, 2019 by

The spent tea bag stapled at the top, the icicles dripping on a Saturday afternoon freed from any thought of what time it could be, spread out like a soft cheese with hair unwashed, snow with nowhere to go, nothing … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments