Old love


There are several poems and books that attract me like some powerful magnet, that I just keep coming back to. I have books sitting on my shelves that don’t stay there quite long enough to gather dust: the old classics like Shakespeare or Bukowski, and the more obscure works like ‘Confessions of Max Tivoli’ or Sandra Hochman.
There are plenty that I read and donate immediately afterwards, knowing I will never pick them up again, but these books; these staples I feel are almost a part of me. My fingerprints surely embedded in the well-worn pages by now.
Today I couldn’t find anything new to wring out of my brain and I don’t feel like posting anything old either, so I will share one of my favorite poems, by EE Cummings. What are some of the books or poems that you just keep reading again and again?

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new


this is not an admission of guilt


I am a huge fan of poetry: writing it, reading it, speaking it. I am also a huge fan of AMC’s Breaking Bad: the characters, the plot, the chaos. Knowing this, there is not much better than a combination of those two things. Several months ago I came across a found poetry contest that required me to create a found poem using the script of Breaking Bad’s pilot episode. If you have seen the show, or even if you haven’t, I recommend reading this. The way it is written adds so much to the show and really allows you to see how it was imagined, and then (watching the actual episode) how that came to life. I didn’t win or anything, but here is my found poem from this contest:

Deep blue sky overhead,
fat, scuddy clouds.
A bit out of place, to say the least.
A rooster tail of red dirt
spraying –
glinting hard in the sun.
70’s era Winnebago with
chalky white paint and Bondo spots –
its paint peels off like sunburned skin.

They cycle. Solution, dissolution, over and over.
It’s a lonesome tableau;
she blows smoke toward the ceiling,
he drops his eyes first.
It’s way down deep, but it glows inside him
a beat,
wide greenbets and dark magnolias,
not at all noteworthy.

There are tiny curls of red smoke,
rising thick and dark,
swollen like a balloon –
you. You and me.
No adulterants. No baby formula.
No chili powder.
His mask fogs up until finally he can’t see
realizing more and more,
he likes it –
chemistry: the study of change.

It’s probably absolutely nothing.
Best case scenario – another two years
it’s just
you’ve got mustard on your…
Long, pregnant silence –
a vast and complex concrete knot,
as if being swallowed.

Slow Burn


Your mouth was at war
with your heart
when you found me there –
under the flame trees,
bright white and burning leaves.
And I might have decayed
in your garden –
nude as stones,
untangling myself at the root.

You were an endless anomaly
mouthing almost-perfect lies
in perfect strings –
just a shadow dancing up the walls
making tents of our fingertips
and puddles below our feet.

And all at once you arrives
like the summer berries
ripe, alive, and bursting –
at the peak of the season,
and all at once you were gone.
Nothing left
but a violet bruise spidering out
over shriveled seeds.

Photo credit: creative-diver on deviantart

Forest Fires


I have, ’till now,
borne in silence
a being as base as you are,
and so unsuitable to me.

The sky shot through with light
and I felt in my body
what my eyes could not grasp.

How pale you would be,
and startling –
but your curves
would spring upward.

You would waver,
and relapse, and tremble,

You came to me with evergreens
in your palms
and oh, how luminously
they expand.

And no one knows
(I am sure of this)
and yet I think I could bear
your beauty

Photo Credit: Alvor

The Morning After

you tried dreaming
whatever in-between
of rough hearts

against light
of meteors

your hands –
calluses of
dissolved storms;

in rugged dawn
you kissed me


the way my
heart even

under pressing
and felt yours

at purest

weak lips
don’t forget how
the sunrise

twice captive –
your eyes forget me.

photo credit: Darren Rowse

Road Poem

The summer I turned 18
we got in my car and drove
until the cornfields
turned to mountains and
the mountains turned
to coastline and the earth
dropped off into ocean.

We sat there on the
still-warm hood of my car
at the edge of the coastal highway,
tossing grey and black
and rusty pebbles
over the rail;
and we watched them
tumble down the embankment
as the plump-bodied
seagulls tore at them
like scraps of food
and hoped they
reached the tide.

The sky changed from
the blue of your eyes
to a hazy purple
to a deep, cavernous black;
and our eyes burned out
with the sun.

We listened to the horns of the
cruise ships returning home
and watched the lights
of waterside restaurants
sparkle on the glassy waves.
The way you remembered the
names of the constellations
even here on the West coast
where the world is at a slant
put me off balance,
and your eyes reflected Orion.

You reminded me of
Demeter in August
when she rips the corn
from their stalks and leaves
their milky scabs

There is something purely magical about traveling, exploring unknown areas, even if it’s just that part of the city you only look towards while driving by. With warmer weather coming I’m craving a road trip and I’ve taken the last week of the month off from work. We’ll pack up the car and head out to Oregon or Colorado or Arizona or wherever we decide. I need some mountains in my life and a sunset or two over the ocean.
What places do you want to run to?