Category Archives: Poetry

With the meats and the poultry all spoiling        for a terrible fight, nutrient extraction is the natural objective.        The produce, too, must be purified.

O merriest, wiliest, and holiest of harlots! ~ Edward IV She works the room the way she works words. Her students lead thesauresed lives, ape tropes poached from livid legends, derive new meanings from stale or stolen selves:

In computer science, conditional constructs are sometimes referred to as “If-Then-Else” statements: if a condition is met, then an action is performed; if the condition is not met, then an alternate action is executed. What if I were         to begin … Continue reading →

after Helen Hunt Jackson’s “November” This is the beguiling month when autumn days betray my summer lusts,

for Dawn Thompson There is only one rule of any real value

Mrs. Butterworth stands on the windowsill of the Christianson Ranch shack, whose door stands agape with the hasp-screws rotted out.

Forty years down our wilderness path, neither I nor you recall the genesis. All we know is our tweenaged selves standing in shame before your holy father

A poem maketh not the sun to rise,     Obscureth not the wayward path at dusk—

today i shaved the right side of my face first as usual i puffed a bit of shaving cream astride my left forefinger looked in the mirror

for Joshua Dodds He speaks in a voice with eyes: eyes that hear, an ear that touches, a hand that reaches around your heart