This is where I post my poems that have been published in print and on-line journals. This is also where I curate a collection of previously published poems I admire and, beginning in January 2018, the Galleywinter Poetry Series - a poetry series composed of previously unpublished poems solicited by yours truly. Enjoy!
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Following the Reaping
(in four parts)
1. By the Very Same Sickle
was dragged into a journey
looked like an admission of love
my brooding-over-steeping-tea posture.
is more to this road than sliding.
time my stooped back turned,
pointed finger jabbed my chest and I knew
truth – heaps of empty haystacks lie
the dirt and the sickle swings right before bed.
was always either thirsty or very, very sad.
2. On Truth and Freedom and Being a Coward We
pay by the foot for oblivion’s dust,
our journey will turn eventually
red as spending every morning alone
by refrigerator light. We rely on unstoppable
moves – the fire-pole slide, the running
one abandoned cat after another, the vague
deaths, and the folding in on ourselves.
become bullying cowards with nothing left
rage and a truth as scary as being set free.
draws mice and mice draw blood –
makes love a dry throat, salty, eager for something
to drink – something very, very cold.
3. Freedom Is a
just one leg in my pants, sweat begins
drip bloodshot as a bullet wound left to fester.
against the kitchen window just above
sinkful of dirty dishes piled high and rancid
another unwelcome flirtation, there’s a light
cold and blue as a morgue drawer. It interrogates
introspection with hoarse rasps of why
never flip a finger. All freedom is a liquid thing,
until the red runs dry – very, very dry.
4. All the Rest
Is a Rapture
run down my nose and off its tip
a hot red pot of sweet-smelling meat.
life’s gone green and needs a poultice,
to soak in the amber glare of a thickly
bar with shadows as dark as reaping
Knowing only the fear of never going deep
letting my muscles bulge in the right direction,
imagine a life as soft as a goddess-thigh and warm
the air gods breathe. All the rest is a rapture;
waking up cold, stiff, and a little bit blue; a waiting