(For Melani, Dru, and Samantha) to Maryland, Pittsburg, or Mozambique the eating heart is famished of. Love is in December, its feast of snow and weary. Worry is the prevalent breakfast, and the dial of the sun is careless of all wanting. Daunting is coffee, cold with the unrequited yearn of waiting. Late to party … Continue reading It’s a Long Way from Here
He waits in this empty room for a poem or perhaps, here in this garret, a thought from God. The room’s light casts back at him a mask, half in light, one eye—bright enough from shadows, a room where there is a this and an is: coffee mug on a desk, desk cluttered but solid … Continue reading The Isolate
one star fleets through clouds above of the bar’s neon "open" flickering off and on.