Monday, May 13, 2013

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Monday, February 18, 2013

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Monday, January 21, 2013

Monday, January 9, 2012


THE LAST RECALL

I recall myself, for parts
deficient and memory lacking.
I don’t recall any parts
independent of the whole,
but an overall review might
be in order, to draw up
a hierarchy among the fragments.
I can’t recall that time you’re
talking about, but will accept
second guesses as assurances
that I was actually there.
You’re sure I said that?
I was that shadow seen through a keyhole?
That thin-as-a-whisper asshole?
I take it back, I take it back,
I take it back…

Monday, January 2, 2012


Radiator heat
clicks on like stuttering speech
noises in the dark

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


STARVED HOUSES

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


VISION QUEST-PAK


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


TASK @ HAND


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

Monsters