zinc words & images

  • I am the soil

    I sift the dirt through My fingers and make work Of root, stem, leaf Gone ginger with fall And the slow death of desiccation. I’m not sure what I search For. Whether it is the hoof Of a doe that came to me In a dream or the rapier Of a nightmare, I don’t know.…

  • Poem up at Passaic / Völuspá

    My poem, Finite Goodness, is up at Passaic / Völuspá! I want to thank the editors, Erin Waters and Gil D. Kneale for featuring my work. Head to http://passaic-voluspa.org/ and check it out!

  • Smoke on a Cloudy Night

    Tonight, I wish I still smoked. My brain And body vibrate With late spring’s promise And I want my hands And heart to be busy. Each pore could be filled With smoke, like a beehive, Settling my desire, my heat, Abating the humid atmosphere That seeks my envelopment.

  • Defrock

    In May tulips splay, rendering their carbon undone. Petals, a visual cacaphony on the ground. Me, believing myself a spiral running into the soil, an archimedes screw that overturns soil and buries joy. I wield my scissors, clipping decay from its stem and falling to the ground.

  • Ossify

    Bones grind to high heaven like an unholy ferris wheel and I am caught, a piece of fabric, frayed and flapping against the wind. A prayer of quiet in the joints and knuckles that are white-hot with their crackling. They talk to me and speak of the limestone and dirt from which I am made,…

  • Sundays

    We come to our work-week Washed, wrung-out, Spent like soap, laying In a pool of its own Disintegration.

  • Eonic Botanic

    Sunflowers turn their head slowly, as if August’s heat has given them a life much slower than time. This seems right- they are backyard watchmen, peering over my neighbors fence and greeting the surly dogs that live to the south. Making believe that they are simple flowers and that their agenda is not to outlast…

  • Red light

    Hot foot Lizard Smell sand Like its A mouth Waving Mirage Burns me Oven Of God Color Blanched to One tone Squeeze down To touch The ground

  • On rotation

    Things that keep me writing and thinking about writing… Indecent by Paula Vogel I saw this play a few days ago, performed by a top notch local theatre and I cannot get it out of head. I experienced some unique and truly indescribable feelings as I watched it unfold. Fucking rabbits They ate through a…

  • The Return of Spring

    I bloom when I speak, When the rain beats the windows, When I recline in the sun.   I bloom, if you remember, When you ask, who is the artist- The one who teaches the future.   I bloom when I nap, Softly breathing, dreaming beneath A tartan print blanket.   I bloom at night,…