Wednesday, September 24, 2014

And The Record Skipped

(Close-up of unidentified Rothko)

Intimacy lives
in that band 
of skin

above a man's


beneath the
draw of his
barber's blade
Where Summer's
burn slides

into a white
Winter bed

And in the passage,
a woman's Fall

Friday, September 12, 2014

100 Words

In her mind, they meet in a clearing, conscious of the cliché, but captured all the same by the beauty of their bodies beating in the sun, the electricity swimming on their swollen tongues, awareness dipping into some peasant fold, so that he moves—and she moves—and they move—as leaves move.   

Like a bird she will dive into his mouth. 

And oh, the sky, and aye, the clouds, and yes to the weight of his body being on her own, yes for the felt and fleeting clutch of an immortal light, in all this blood between the legs.  

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


All week long,
I've left words 
and they seem fine
out there 
on their own

Exchanging my pen
for a Nikon lens
and the sawing at clarity
for the sensory swing 
of encountering a thing,
before shooting it

I like the beautiful things
more than I like the true things,
but I like the beautiful, true things
most of all  

And that is a photograph's
exquisite appeal,
being all right 
magnified and married
at the speed
of light     

While words have to
always this struggle--
and always upwind, 
us and them jawing 
to get our gears
to bite

then stopping
before finding--