31 December 2011


Nimbose 12/31

And those blank eyes. The
implications ominous.
My head fills, empties.

30 December 2011


Beclouded 12/30

My mind is cotton
A most nubiferous quar-
-ter. My eyes are blank.

29 December 2011


Mizzling 12/29

All coats and wool and
huddled eyes in scarves. It breaks
across the mountain.

28 December 2011


Climate 12/28

Trees in the cool wind.

Snow is cottonwood quiet.

Breath buried in sky.

26 December 2011

Boxing Day

Boxing Day 12/26

It’s a must – a sealed universe

In the back of the shed – marked toys

Instant 1992 – a smell of California

25 December 2011

Chrstimas Box

Christmas Box 12/25

Look into the branches and see those little star-points
they glitter – they are roses on the mantle and food in
our bellies

We can break this day open like piƱata – the contents
pouring over the parquet like thick gravy – this second
will become a shimmer in our memories

A ball to place on a high branch at Christmastime we
will take it our examine it and put it away careful like
under it will be our treasure

Reflections will splinter the room into what is beautiful
and what is more beautiful – your face – mine – the
sound of snow on snow

These little twinkles hold our souls – they cover this
greenery and wrap us in some kind of warm – why
it is forgotten is anyone’s guess

24 December 2011

Christmas Tree

Christmas Tree 12/24

They’re pretty – sometimes – they aren’t even Christian originally
As far as arguments go it’s mainly down to falling needles – the smell of pine
I don’t bother to put one up – I go home and look at my parents’

23 December 2011


This poem was written for my friend Paul Armijo.

Stutter 12/23

What taste on your tongue
The air dry and cracking – a zoo of thoughts begins

Colors too bright for the morning – it all feels like clowns
The crumbling adobe makes faces worse then clowns

The sky is purple
The taste stuck

22 December 2011

On Brooklyn Bridge

On Brooklyn Bridge 12/22

Until you reach the mid-point do not turn
It is the hanging gardens of Babylon
It is the voice of God – your heart may rupture – will

The blur of wrought iron is cooling
Until you can take this coldness stay at home
Bring a parka and a bagged lunch

You can hear the cars - foreign tongues
The sound of smiles freezing on film
The gulls never know where to land

21 December 2011

Fly Poem

This poem was written from found lines while I was in Auvillar, France in 2009

Fly Poem 12/21

The indescribable feeling of blankets – in your throat
Tin on the back of your tongue
Having your head poetically lopped – Emily likely
would have volunteered – With a seashell? The old garden shears?
They released spinal fluid, I should collect it in hollowed gourds
It is metallic and running – mercurial – gutter sounds in city streets
I have that looping old world melting feel – the kind east coast US cities have
accidentally – that oozing ironwork – the layered buildings capping eras – a stopgap – a murdered superstar
Why do the dying always smell roses – heavy flowers – speak in scaled riddles :
“Stop, breathe, listen…there’s a peacock at my feet…
the leaves of Juillet are thick, waxy – they feel like leather…
a Societe of Pigeons makes it difficult to move without notice…
today is the jours de wheels on cobblestone...
            What I’m trying to say is indescribable, what I have to say is so important”

20 December 2011

Windows Fail

And Then The Windows Failed - And Then (After Emily Dickinson) 12/20

And then the Windows failed            – and then
oceans of bees – across the threshold come –
The eyes a whirled, reaching compress – cold –

A cascade of Rooms – A futile Tapestry
The sudden mind – static – thousand-eyed glasses
swirl – marble – A tree of elongated hands –

There – is the Lock-box Chain – and
a slam-break – weeping Skin, demanding more –
A Suit of man – shattered un-holding arms –

Interior child, fitting in a Storm – and then
the cool Palm of Rest – and then
the Windows failed – and then – buzzing then –

19 December 2011

Apocalypse #5

Apocalypse #5 12/19

He hands me dried raspberries that have been soaked in alcohol, I mistake them for goji

Cupboards open, swollen faded hot red fruit cascade against cobalt Spanish tile

A lemon top-heavy cloud shifts from one end of the sky to a spot above Nevada

The beehive-shaped fruit goes on the tongue, tastes like dipped cordial oranges

He waves his hands in the air violently screaming about a trip to the bank that went awry

The sun reaches that point where it bursts through the door hysterical about the end times

He tells me the fruit is neither raspberry nor goji, laughs, breaks a curtain rod on an anvil

I question the anvil about the Kyoto Protocols and ask the not-raspberries for some scotch

Somewhere over Nevada it begins to rain sugar

18 December 2011


Snowball 12/18

Ice on wool on hands – pushing round and forming
Pressing tightly – just to sting
Toss into the expanse and wait for impact

17 December 2011

Winter Pennsylvania 2006

Haiku will return in the new year.


For reals.

Winter Pennsylvania 2006 12/17

Heated air
Lungs become a desert
Sheets full of sand
Dunes beneath the small of the back
Patchwork of itching lines
Cracking roads of skin
Naturally thoughts
Move to wars in desert countries
Smoke threading into sky
The violence of skies
How they never end
Keep pressing down in blankets
Fingers always tipping the edges –

16 December 2011


Autochthon 12/16

The earth liquids and
waves of black soil tsunami
Live birth. Blood, hands, feet.

15 December 2011


Haiku 12/15

In the Taos thrift store
dishes are half price. That wolf
fur coat is two grand.

14 December 2011

13 December 2011

Sexy Haiku

Haiku 12/13

Coco draped the pearls
across her naked breasts, her
nipples were diamonds.

12 December 2011


Haiku 12/12

The small white berries
taste of paper and honey.
Are ghosts around fire.

11 December 2011


Haiku 12/11

Magpie hangs upside-
down, green-black white from the pine.
We both watch for dogs.

10 December 2011

Word Mark

I know...this is also not a haiku.

Word Mark 12/10

I would type on the Underwood

Would smudge the ink – press my fingers
together they felt like chalk like graphite

The lines of skin would highlight themselves

Here a life – line of the fact of having worked

The black under my nails was deep
I felt a connection with squid

The fingerprint in the corner of the page
another melting geometry

Like that Underwood – gone reliquary

09 December 2011


Tabloid-esque 12/9

Over the hills come
Royals and their hunting dogs
Actors in fox suits.

08 December 2011


I know it's meant to be haiku month, but this happened.

Round-The-World 12/8

In the grocery store
in Taos

There is a Cristmas Tree
it is the middle of November
and the turkeys haven’t even sold yet

A stack of Terry’s chocolate orange
in dark and milk varieties

I take one home
crack it against the floor
and eat the core first

We’re living with a big sky

Lidless blue orb of forgetting

I have lost so many selves…


What was the question ?

Remember that magnolia tree in Georgia
that willed with waxy cream blossoms
every spring ?

In that house we planted pumpkins
and had a pet lizard caught in the roses
out front

We named him Mister Nobody
and buried him at the foot of the yard
with all of the goldfish

The limb
of the pine tree
was shaped just so
that if you leap
it would launch you
into the air
through the limbs
to the field below

You spread your arms
look all figurehead-y
and close your eyes
then step to the edge
of the building

This does not equal that

That one of these thing happened in Georgia and another in New Mexico and then the last one in England or New York matters only to me

06 December 2011

05 December 2011


Economize 12/5

I’m trying small things
The color of Magpie wings
Let me be clear – Awe.

04 December 2011

Roast Beef

December is haiku month!

I am on my way back to the east coast after three months in New Mexico. I will have TV and internet and my cat back.

I've always associated haiku with wisdom. With change and the seasons.

So I wrote one about Arby's.

Roast Beef 12/4

Arby’s sauce kicks ass
Curly fries – Beef – Amazeballs
This is why we’re fat.

03 December 2011


You will wait

for three days

in this place

without complaint.

Then if there are

any of them left

you will get

your American jeans.

02 December 2011


Cotch 12/2

How many months could I make it
hidden – in the mountains of New Mexico

Where are the legs of Father Time ?
I have a tire iron – wish to hobble everyone
who has a clock

Here is a space
where my arms wrap around myself
as if they always could

A space where the conversation
in my head – is rich and fine-tuned to hum

When does the gear break the block
placed in the wheels of the sun chariot

Forcibly making dawn of my night – breaking
my attempt at vanishing without dying

01 December 2011


Ointer 12/1

After the bacon
            into the aluminum can

with the peeling label – that is unreadable
is as old as I can remember

Pour the grease and wait for it to whiten

Like Holy Communion you will dip you fingers
and drop the contents into the mouth of the pan

Your skin will shine with fat
plasticized like Jesus on the cross

above your bed – like the angel on the tree
at Christmas

The room will smell like food

Grandma you will be standing – your back to us
A ghost of what was done in this place