January 2018

a sparrow alights  
on the wind blown wire  
natural harmonics  

another day teased out  
to a single note  

beluga clouds  
the icy moon sets  
into the sea   

a hermit crab scuttles  
its crumbling shell   

discarded plastic  
in the postmortem   
of a forgotten evening  

an old salt  
spins a yarn or two  
into open wounds  

and what of the plowshares?  
we'll learn to love 'the bomb'   

sickle moon  
a spy dome deflates  
at Waihopai  

a thousand times reflected 
in the eyes of a fly  

in alpine snow  
only the radar ping  
of a blackbird  


Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki

in memoriam Johnny Baranski  


Folsom prison blues— 
every man guilty of some 
kind of innocence                            

a worm twists and turns  
at the heart of a rose                      

see? with the beads  
of glass I can show you  
your rainbow                                  

revenants of yesteryear  
in her sleight of hand                       

now the mirror's empty  
but for the stupid smile 
of moonlight                                    

a bolt-gun rings in the stockyard  
poppies Hafiz, oh the poppies...      

day after day   
the quiet American   
soldiers on                                        

a chalk window on the wall   
there's your escape                           

the goldfish stares through me   
two blue-bottle flies  
gather dust in the corner                  

a breath makes to softly leave  
through a split infinitive                     

hand-to-brow  
in one movement   
mensch                                             

mother's approval proves  
the relationship's final blow              

dead sea scroll  
a caterpillar  
of its end                                           

OMG! there's a dog  
trying to get into her ear!                  

and yet no one pays any mind 
as the ground erodes  
underfoot                                            

unheard of 'til now  
footfall on water                                

first snowdrops  
a certain whiteness in   
A Love Supreme                               

refracted through my third eye 
the moon scents whisper                  

images strewn 
across the underbelly  
of experience                                   

quietly dusk leaves  
the fields wide open                           


Clayton Beach, Hansha Teki, and Johannes S. H. Bjerg