Category: Bold


Cafe, 1 a.m.

  Weary eyes opened wide propped up on toothpick espresso cups licked clean, licked smart the woman in the wide-brimmed hat warm breath, wild thoughts tells us of visions, the dessert dunes camels in hand Mount Tahat in the dust kicked up no way! some shout    get outta here!


Nazare, February.

Standing with salty toes smelling of fish on the grandstands of Nazare, cliffs so big cresting giants double the height— rising great walls of freezing winter water jackets on so tight, skins the color of rubber suctioned, hands so white gripping tows a mammoth wave rising like the froth of a pub beer it crests and slams—



  At heart my father was a naturalist. He took my trembling hand and told it to catch garter snakes to slither as I slept on the bedside table to eat as I gagged hands empty of crickets


Bistro Patio

  The coffee molting in that licked cup is stale already, gone the steam, gone the beans, gone the money-bagged Peruvian bean man, never stood a chance against this batch. Doesn’t matter anyhow the cup’s not there for consumption anyhow, the cups there are all for aesthetics—my fancy word for look at me in my mood, look at


Moon Dance

  There are 7.8 billion poems about the moon; having read none of them, I wonder: If all her glowworms cast their eyes to her size and whimper amongst themselves: why she so low— then what does she do? Diddly.


Skin to Skin

  Hold hands with me. My feet won’t point in the direction I will them to, they’re on a loop and my mind is getting dizzy. Hold hands with me. I’ve been watching your stride. Your clean-limbed foot swing mesmerizes me. How can you keep so steady? Please hold hands with me.


Wah-Wah Sowahwah

  The things that woman can do with a trumpet— they say teach a man to fish but I say, give a girl a trumpet! She’ll call forth the inside animal to roar against the trees and slash long marks in the careful lawn. Roar! she trumpets, go forth and roar! The open air hears you and raises, the wind will gust that roar … Read More Wah-Wah Sowahwah


  So it is with civilized care that I kneel down to the open blank pages of a crease-lined book and cast my memories in its bronze borders. You’re my marauder, my hopeless staircase looting the use from my crouching soul and leading me to dark places too deep to stay dark.

Self Serving

  I wrote myself some love poems today, outlined in sun near the ocean’s smile. The waves beat down upon charcoal rocks and up frothed a great many minerals. I absorbed them all, flesh-first, like the fern drinks in the rain. I loved myself with pen and with sun; when thirsty, I drank; when hungry, I ate; when sleepy, I slept—and felt no reason … Read More Self Serving

Write Long

  Be patient, and write long. As long as the strokes of your eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then both of us remain alive. Be patient. Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light. Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax. Open and close the hinges of your mouth and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with the elbows. … Read More Write Long

Step One

  Step one : I throw up my hands and jump out the bus window— What you doing?! I shriek and laugh as my face slams against the hot asphalt. A car screeches beside my left foot. Sticky exhaust blossoms into my mouth from the butt of the bus and the squirrel by the trash can squeaks.

The Rock and the River

  At the top of the outcrop I sat with my knee-bones tight to my chest— the river undulated below, swirling in shades of blues and yellows refracted light on stones of marble the guttural current cut the cliff to slices–jagged & twisted and