Poetry Archives Bio

Poetry

ship of _heseus

September 1, 2021

Inspired by Chris Lisica

repairing a wall involves art
i do not have

every action is simple in theory
i think

as i observe the anatomy of the screw
the drive to the head  the shank

the angled threads' crest and pitch
for ever unchanged


the pink alabaster calls to me
changing its stripes the tiger shrieks

but dries all the same  uneven and rough
for ever unfix'd by all manner of

paper and sand  when complete
(a wall is never complete

a passing hand reveals
a lump  a nodule  a growth


that must be whitewashed and primed
(we do not guide things' birth

they are given to their own parturition
i think

as I peel the orange  layer after layer
my friend asks why I don't wipe the slate

how to show him the pentimento
how to show him you  on a small wooden bed


fast asleep  with the dark falling just right
from the room next door

Found Poem XVII or Sorpresa Encontrada

August 9, 2021

He was surprised to find no one at home.

She was surprised to find a river.

He was surprised that his knuckles seemed to suffer more than his wife's face.

She was surprised to see Ophelia standing beside her.

He was surprised that not a single one of them asked for money.

She was surprised that the beeping IVAC machine was his only companion.

He was surprised to find the old man so ill.

She was surprised to find the back door open.

He was surprised to find that the brush tangle could be pushed to one side.

She was surprised to find her lameness suddenly leave her.

He was surprised to find that his employment situation was about to change for the better.

She was surprised to find that her guess irked her.

He was surprised to find a yellow Victorian house.

She was surprised to find that she remained conscious while the strength drained out of her.

He was surprised to find that she was still alive.

She was surprised to find she did not feel threatened.

He was surprised to find how excessively agitated he was.

She was surprised to find herself in a room unknown to her.

He was surprised to find the nursery door ajar; not a good sign.

She was surprised to find the glass didn't break.

He was surprised to find that he looked forward to the boy coming back.

She was surprised to find that her escorts rushed off to find her bags.

He was surprised to find the streets and houses deserted.

She was surprised to find the old man out on the wide stone balcony.

He was surprised to find himself speaking to a cardboard figure.

She was surprised to find they were standing in the bedroom of the bungalow.

He was surprised to find that the door was unlocked.

She was surprised to find that it wasn't nearly as satisfying as she'd imagined.

He was surprised to find that calm was stealing over him.

She was surprised to find two puncture wounds still oozing blood.

He was surprised to find the big reception room full of hard-featured men.

She was surprised to find herself wanting to yell a stream of profanities and to weep like a child.

Cappelbaum Takes the Voight-Kampff

August 9, 2021

Inspired by Jessica Moritz

Cappelbaum takes the trash to the curb
letters inserted between brown
coffee filters and photographs

henceforth sorrow shall mean soupspoon
cattail shall mean perjury
table leg shall mean please  sir
may I have another

the wind  the mind opens and shuts
doors in this house
Cappelbaum rests


between labour and sleep
as the sun keeps the blades at bay
exposes the concrete
limits of work

though only ever
in a certain light
Cappelbaum writes

"it burns a little
when I pee
says tweedledum to
tweedledee


the hares come politely
to shear the grass
(no dutch courage at the dacha

Cappelbaum sans insouciance
sands walls  tables windows
takes care not to care
to not admire the door or its frame

the eyeball is slim enough to fit
he thinks  doth madneſse
make a sound  doth lonelineſse


Cappelbaum reaches under the sink
in a flourish tugs at the black
readies a clean bag

terminal park beauty salon

July 21, 2021

Inspired by Michaela Hutfles

i have strewn this town with women
fragments of flailing   limned  disjointed notes
cicatrix sold by the pound

the flat corpse of a moulder'd hare
flies over the fence
the bird I'd killed on that road
comes for a spot

my smile folds inappropriate
(a pirate prop or a praetor pip
a pair topper or a pita proper

I greet the unfinished man
rolling through these ghostly hills
he teaches crows the hollow sounds of rocks
he listens to the rimlit bear

explain the englishman's river fall
by means of pivots and constraints
aporia causes his audience

to horripilate  then seek
another sound  haruspicy
suffonsified by two
tall slits of ophidian yen

obwohl der Schuster keine Füße hat
time heals all zounds  curtains burn
love minus love is still love

Lines Composed in Victoria Harbour,
On Seeing the Feet of James Cook. July 2, 2021

July 14, 2021

i wonder

how long it took
all the thoughts

similar to all
these simmering thoughts

in all these hot
heads to come

to a boil and then
overboil and run

and i wonder
what is yet

to come

abasement suite

June 26, 2021

as I exit the room
I turn off the sun

        the elk falls and falls
        like the glass that fills

  without cease
  the man of letters

             watches a carp
             ascend a waterfall


  we ought to speak soon
  Carthago delenda est

                 upstairs  the beast
                 with the perfect brows

        opens her third eye
        the fourth  the fifth

  a child in the form
  of a crab  teaches grass


how to keep nature
at bay with a blade

         downstairs  father
         plots the fall of man

         thoughts perennial
         and deciduous

and a chorus of ferns
describes l'effet de pluie


     l'effet de brume
     traces his linear descent

     on the windows a steel sun
    (an aid to remembrance and distinction

              that's a very yellow dress
              you're wearing

        I was asleep crossing that
        border  many years ago



my eye can trespass

                 the robin stirs
                 in the radiator grille

    a sharp nail (or shrapnel
    pierces the tongue

                 and suddenly you find
                 yourself in a grocherie stor

having tears


          it's the whiskey that makes you frisky
          it's the vodka that stirs your bodkin

          it's the gin that makes you sin
          it's the rum that makes you come

          it's the bourbon that draws the curtain
          and now

a lovely dance
in sight of the abyss


          rabbit hearts that beat
          like rabid hearts

   endless radium
   telephone toads

                     and Smyrna
                     ankles flash

        skirts flourish in the heat
        looks out over the fields


blesses all with fire

On Saturdays

June 5, 2021

To Rod Moody-Corbett

On Saturdays the grass is mown
Around the world at every home.
   The men pour in the gasoline
   And start the roar of their machines
And work the razor and the comb.

Time does not travel while they roam.
The sun shines brightly on the chrome
   Sedans reflecting whites and greens
On Saturdays.

They trim the bush and rake the loam,
And think of outstanding loans,
   And note their wives in tight-fit jeans,
   And watch the oscillating teens,
Their ankles and their collarbones
On Saturdays.

enter the archives »