Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The Entourage

They moved through sepia
thoughtless, but thoughtful
enough to regard each other.
The brown world was like gravy,
a reminder of the taste
of something good.
Out ahead of them the
black and whiteness
moved toward them.
Overhead, sound moved
silently, encrypted.
They had begun to
receive the invisible.
The Entourage confessed to no one
in particular, they did not care
how this was happening.
Desire spread, inflamed by color.
Investigations were made.
They would get back to everyone.
Still it came on, looking more
and more like the surface of water,
the turbulence making sense.

I was washing the windows
when I noticed the tiniest of
dry insects caught in the screens.
Across the room was another screen.
The Entourage moved across it
In the lead she carried
a rhinestone briefcase.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

The Contraceptive Bird

It was blue like a bunting
and it fit the pattern
of a dream.
Color let loose
looking a lot  like
a bird.
But this dream
switched things
I was used to.
The eggs were leaf green.
Not laid,
formed by the
space around them.
Pressure and a reliance
on color.
Small weather came up
around the eggs,
coaxing them open.
Inside, what I could not see
emerged and flew to
the sky's blue hand.
I remember
it looked
a lot like a bird.

Friday, April 13, 2012


Republican Presidential hopelessful, Mitt Romney, today said that the Obama administration has hurt any chances the Chicago Cubs may have to reach the playoffs by not providing them with a portfolio of runs. "Times are tough", said Romney, "and I understand people's desire for insurance, for peace of mind." Romney failed to provide an answer as to just how this administration would provide insurance runs for a major league baseball team. "You'll have to take that up with Mr Obama," smiled the Republican's all but certain nominee.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


It will never be safe, the

coming out of this hole,

this body. Everything in

this world is this body. Smell

what we have made. The rest

seeks audience with us. The

hornet looks for love along my

arm. The sun smiles down on me.

But really the yellow jacket just

senses water and the Great

Orb has another appointment.

This body is not central-

light and water swirled into

a labeled labyrinth.

Check the seating chart.

Press the new foot.

The body begins as one

language reaching for its

bilingual nature, searching

for a translation, longing

for a translator.

The wonder of this body is:

when you clap one hand a

light goes on, two, it goes off.