Tag Archives: love


love is the reverberation

of a muted song,

spinning but unspun in a spool.

left over images on the reel, woven

pasts and recycled words

all interconnected into

a massive structure of rewinding time.

you drag it through the street

and beg others to

watch, listen, or feel.

if your bartering isn’t accepted,

another empty echo is hoarded.




some mornings you wake me with a call

to arms, or a crawl as if in deep trenches

perhaps just your color wakes me,

as it twists into my dreams

then envelops,

becoming my dreams, pulling

the blackness from behind my eyelids

into the bed, taking shape and texture


you are a soft fiddle head fern

that runs through the wind,

imitating an ash-throated flycatcher


your forgiveness comforts me

and wakes me at night


I Fell in Love with the Dawn


I found what it meant to be deserving

in the whispering communion of yellow morning song.

behind the blinding curtain that would rise

for our most famous star.

each word that I would ever write was waiting there,

right beyond my grasp,

waiting for my grasp.

each heartbeat that had yet to fill up my ear

and every thread that longed to graze my face

was on the backside of the world,



through the spinning wonderment.




grain of wood creates waves around my carpet,

a multicolored coastline

with it’s frayed edges, concealing mollusks and dog hair.

to follow the natural flow of the patterns

is to step back in time, or through the door

that separates living and loving.

tracing my fingers over them,

splinters collecting in my sensitivity,

realizing it’s not an ocean at all.

if it was, I would never leave the safety of my bed.

you can’t pay for an ocean but you can pay

for the Earth,

with it’s supplies that it kindly deals out to you.

no hidden motive except in your own humanity.


bartering may be safer than buying.

Carpentry Blues

there was a time when you sat across from me 

(in a chair, 

made by hands, 

made by sex, 

made by love, 

made by a story you’ll never know)

and I thought

about a story we could write, 

made by our hands, 

made by… 

and I heard you say, “I can’t wait to fuck you.” 

and I’ll hear you 

and know that you meant what you said 

and you didn’t mean, “I’ll make a chair for you.”