Tag Archives: poem

Seven Ways of Looking at a Starry Horse

A poem written in response to Izumi Yokoyama’s “Wild Horse,” for an upcoming ekphrasis event. 1. The cosmos has no time for serious thought. Only horseplay, amorphic in a milkbath of dark matter. 2. Horse. A noun fashioned from the symmetry … Continue reading

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Henry Valentine Miller

Because his middle name was Valentine, a V-Day tribute poem to that “boy from Brooklyn,” Mr. Henry Valentine Miller,  from my book Arclight. Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spray paint … Continue reading

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Why I Love the Moon

You, Moon, told me a secret when I was a child– Make wonder your compass, your true north, abide by its magnetic tow, and you will never get lost, not truly, and your soul will make for warm, favored company. … Continue reading

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In the Company of Words

At times, the savvy and elaborate architecture of words, the stunning and complex tapestry of language, its magisterial tunings to sound, is, in its beggared haunt and infancy, rooted in the unscabbed core of a pinking utterance, a single quiver … Continue reading

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In Absentia

We are mostly made from absence, a light-stitched band of particles, aspiring, in concert, to harmonize daring feats of love, or how we dream, in fits, aligning our nodes to perish.

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Love’s Greatest Fools

Slowly, slowly, pour me out of the wounds, the chafing legend, that we, intransitive in our grief, shared at a common altar and dais, remember how we, marvelous in our reaching, hallowed the moon as a redundant savior, a charnel … Continue reading

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Desire by Any Other Claim

We were walking scarside, had been for a long time. The wind sounded like fading bells, the air smelled of singed salt. I asked her how her heart was holding up. Good, she smiled, it’s floating jellyfishlike in a pool … Continue reading

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Ephemerally Yours

There is nothing more heartbreakingly human than sharing your loneliness with another, a tender enclosure bonding the furtive nuptials of intimacy for as long as ephemera graciously grants.

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Bubble, Yum

There is a dying art to teething on the candied skin of a bubble for as long as you can before its inevtiable burst becomes the shyest glimmer grieving your lips.

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Unbearably Light

White-hot throbbing, to bask in the sidereal– Unzip your skin, please.

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