Father and Son

Dreamers Are Gluttons




Over  A Bowl Of Potato And Corn Soup, Mr. Marvin Tells Me How He Castrated Baby Goats


Love Poem #1

Leather Death Fruit and Flying -- A Consideration

The Mechanic Takes on Language

135th & Crossing

It Could've Been

Kermit's Jazz

The Muse



In Time

Bottomed Out Language

Such Fears

Spreading Out Histories

Days Unfold

There is a Flutter of Noise in My Head


135th & Crossing


 Her hands are like closed horseshoes. 

        They swing over her clocking hips,

               as if that is what makes her go.

   She does not slow for conversation.


                                    At the corner she brushes against roses

being sold.                    She throws a smile

over her shoulder, like table salt--


      or something not of luck at all.


The roses fall onto the street.


                        No symbolism.  No metaphor.


     Just red flowers in the gutter.

                 And a man stooping down


collecting his life.


Originally published in Spout

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