January 24, 2019


I am a poet
the secrets I see
in rehearsed caffeinations
are mine to keep;
to stay within
to stray without
clinical boredom
or clerical doubt;
how you paint
is how I write
to live in words
in sound and sight;
but these margins
and white space
have a different story
and a different face;
if this disguise
is nothing but grace
the soft folds
of satin and lace
then what they hide
is softer still
a whisper hushed
by a lover's quill.

January 3, 2019

Weather Songs

The wheels of time turn
each epoch into a new story
and looking out
the sun always finds
some new odds and ends of existence

these blue elastic days
stretch an empty story over the margins
vying for a drunken dream
and a burnt sky looks back
with a worried look
when small talk runs dry

the rain is silent when it comes
its presence felt only in
the softness left behind
and the green sings
a new song of remembered words

how can I possibly not sing along?