... pale green wall tiles ( Read more... )

i am tired of failure ( Read more... )

there were reasons for living today, but it gets hard to remember them in the dull evening ( Read more... )

it's not often that i find myself without words, or without lines of poetry to capture something particularly beautiful ( Read more... )

all of this: spoken in a sub-whisper of sub-language

(If even i : peered right into myself : blindness ensuing : a scream of ecstasy wrenched from my metaphorical throat : a brilliant fire shredding my symbolic skeleton : a poem as incomprehensible as constellations : a language with only one breath that wraps time in a ring and comsumes itself ( Read more... )

though i may not be reliable as a narrator right now; oh i fell asleep with the window wide open and the wind brushing my face and the light slowly draining from the day through shallow, fitful naps. when at last i raised my head, the last purple flower of the autumn dazed with grace against winter's long, steep call, some dark wing or windy sword ( Read more... )

we poets: consider ourselves visionaries.
the world blind: we eyes. to hands. to words.
the voice, however feeble or insane or cluttered, of our world.
i have not enough language to tell you how i came this far.
i find the tools scattered along my path:
a cicada shell. paterson, book 1 by william carlos williams. a branch shaped like a weapon at ( Read more... )