Monday, December 26, 2011

Bundled Christmas trees
outside Flatbush grocery
yellow cabs flash past

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

    Like a blind man’s sight
    rain patters across rooftops
    tracing an outline

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Rain thrashes briefly 
then quiets to a whisper 
like memory’s pulse

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Rain hits suddenly
as if to a stricken land
someone smiles in sleep

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Braille of raindrops
falls on all our blind faces
nothing to read here

Saturday, December 3, 2011

A flesh-pink half moon
last mist left after the storm
both dissolve away

Detect language » English

Detect language » English

Detect language » English

Sunday, November 27, 2011


The groundwork has been laid;
the drywall, the mortar, the pestle.
The frame is sound. It will stand.
It will give us this day, minus the bread,
and forgive us the trespasses
we make against ourselves.
We are less than whole
within these walls, we lay
down and expect the leveling.
We are the wasp’s thirst, dry as rain
that doesn’t know another drop exists,
we are stronger than the storm
that hasn’t come yet.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Dying DVR
clicks and whirrs like ghost crickets
how new is that sound?

Thursday, November 10, 2011


How many times have I gone so far away
I couldn’t find my way back, and relied
on the bread crumbs of strangers to
both sustain myself and establish
a reliable GPS perimeter?

How many times have I closed
the tunnel door to the past
and declared this dungeon
a baggage free zone?

How many times have I felt lighter
than air, but cooked the molecules
till they’re lighter than that,
just to watch them burst and scatter
like soap bubbles, and know that even
less than that is what holds me here…

Sunday, November 6, 2011

blind white rock of moon
fall foliage blazes red
a beautiful death

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Sunday, October 23, 2011

I’m bending toward sleep
crickets sound like cracking backs
fall sway the weary

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The brush of my breath
strums the broken-down guitar
that sits behind me

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Window-frames rattle
in the last wind from Brooklyn
yup, I’m outta here

Monday, October 10, 2011

The wick still flickers
in a candlelight vigil
for the flame itself

Thursday, October 6, 2011

How dim the star is
reaching above tree branches
like a supplicant

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


Oh, the Zen of it:
empty boxes piled high
waiting to be filled

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Fireflies at dawn
the stars are finally gone
light comes from within

Friday, September 16, 2011

Release me, Brooklyn
from the skin I’ve grown
but still take me in

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Friday, September 2, 2011

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Monday, August 22, 2011

Lightening flashes through
burns a wild, erratic fuse
the stars are scrubbed clean

Sunday, August 14, 2011

I should walk a mile
on another man’s egg shells
before I can crack

Sunday, August 7, 2011

If I drew a blank
then how could it still be blank?
I got nothing here

Monday, July 25, 2011

Soaked in summer sweat
can memories leave the skin
just as easily?

Friday, July 22, 2011

Fireflies flit and dance
a slow, cautious teletype
erased as it’s made

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Monday, July 11, 2011


Can you feel it? The sway to the earth’s
slow grind, that tight-curled magnetic
girdle trying to muscle in and hold
everything down? How much
can stay bound? I could break
a jaw bone to break into song,
I could break the last canary
out of the coal mine,
I could go with the flow
and be drowned in rivers
much larger than me,
I could sway in breezes
and watch the beats hit
like muzzle flashes just outside
the limits of prescribed sight,
I could break free and still
be left empty-handed…

This dance you do, what do you call it?

Sunday, July 10, 2011


History repeats itself because
that’s what written into its’ contract.
Check the sub-clause. It’s all there
in black and white, or sepia tones;
whatever steps of removal leaves you
comfortable with what can’t be undone.
It’s a self-generating property, it’s
transcendent real estate. You’re on
the ground floor of a value that can only
go down, and down, and down…

Thursday, July 7, 2011

My faucet’s dripping
air conditioners still hum
a Brooklyn silence

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Tethered spider web
spins and drifts, silvery gleam
from a waist-high weed

Friday, July 1, 2011

Harlem Haiku

Three spotlights skitter
across a mist-laden sky
off selling something

Sunday, June 26, 2011

outside my window
an owl call cuts through the dark
we talk about shit

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Moon-bright flecks of light
drawn on scurrying current
toward dark waterfall

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Damn my misplaced faith
I had the key to all things
and then I lost it

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Uneven warble
bird song breaking out at dawn
I couldn’t name it

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Animals squabble
who can point to proper blame
out my dark window?

Friday, June 10, 2011

Brief, compacted wind
sweeps through the stuttering trees
but does not touch me

Sunday, June 5, 2011


I’m just coming into resolution
but I’m friggin’ losing it!
I’m the pause button before
the calm before the storm.
I’m a handful of neutered
thunder claps, I’m the sound
of one hand washing the other,
I’m part of the bigger picture.
Won’t you mix with me?

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Chain-link casts shadows
a distorted spider web
for me to walk through

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Luminous city
like an afterthought rising
from the river’s mist

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Dawn’s dull light spills in
azalea blooms burst blood-red
a deepening green

Sunday, May 22, 2011

The mewing newborn
in a concussion of green
blooms about to burst

Monday, May 16, 2011

A siren at night
sounds like an owl’s frantic call
if you hear it right

Friday, May 13, 2011

Wind clatters the leaves
insistent fingers that reach
outside my window

Monday, May 9, 2011

In this gathered night
a car parks, stereo blasting
then the quiet speaks

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Lost balloons sail past
pale orbs in the twilight sky
planes criss-cross above

Friday, April 29, 2011

Leafless branches bloom
silver-lit raindrops at night
just a passing fruit