Monday, November 22, 2010


Doing yard work for my mom
a heron swings past the treetops
its' heavy wings tipped dim red in sunset
I stop for a sec/besides myself

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Across the heat-stricken Afterscape,
the bodies scattered in cindered embrace,
widening out in concentric circles
beneath the looming, blank-faced monolith
inscribed at its’ base (in the finest of print):
“Better Not Named”

Monday, November 15, 2010


My spirit guide got lost
on his way to meet me,
huffed glue for visions,
and was the most flat-footed
dance partner I ever wobbled
across a prairie rug with.

He left my pockets empty
and my eyes like tea cups,
awaiting scalding intake.
He claimed to be the latest
hybrid model: Trickster 2.0
but I had my doubts.

He left my sore-toed and thirsty,
my forehead a blazing billboard
for lack of thought.
He left me folded up
like a lozenge to lay
on my own tongue…

(PS: I tasted terrible)

Friday, November 5, 2010


Amen. Wait, you didn’t hear the ending.
We left their throats cut, we thought cash
up front was pretty self-explanatory---
pillars of salt and golden calves, et all.
Call it on the job insurance, a few false
idols swept under the carpet.
Call me anything, but not
late for dinner. So you’re saying
the DNA corrupts the crime scene?
Get in line. Don’t believe, unless
it’s been left out to die…