May 2017

seven planes 
on still points

leaf mulch
subject verb and object
in disarray

may day! may day!
the entire shebang
is crashing down

winter wind
a girl tunes in 
to the pine

right wing bias
passengers hurtle towards
a revolution

leaf shadows
dancing with the languor
of the sun

no trump deal
with each breath
caring less

half a day-moon
sunset cannot tint it
in blazing clouds

word-weak moon
awe erupts from me
in groans

cold comfort . . .
my breath blooms in
suspended animation

manna . . .
dewfallen light
by darkness

mirror mist
I almost believe
that I'm real


post-op ward
the trickle-down effect
of catheters

bent on freezing 
dewdrops on bended knees

seven billion
of us interpreting

in his uterine tomb
my son sheds his skin

a world hangs on
evewy word

russet leaves downstream