Twitter-worthy

Dynamite comes in small packages.


“Quiet”

Never such peace
as after the click of the door.

Heartbeats can then expand
in soft empty air.

“Home”

Missing pencils and
half-used cakes of board wax

margaritas mid-afternoon
on an old blue-painted porch

the dog is sick
but the vet says he’ll be okay

“Do you ever miss Los Angeles?”
Yeah, some friends, memories

trouble is held back
by the rocks protecting the bay.


for Dave

I asked three times

for this affliction to be taken from me.

“But it’s your brain,” God said.

Fuck!  I guess I need that.


“Jump”

He hovers
over Jung’s deep pond,
seeking a measurement:

How deep does this go?
Are there sexy monsters?

From a coy-formed mouth
(new, just for him),
the water speaks:

“Come in and find out.”

“Visiting”

 I wandered over the border today, 
 sleep-walking into OtherRealm 
 as the gods murmured: "We've got to fix that gate."  

“Road”

Your body,
Sir,
pocked and hard
like the road you walked

leads on
to gentle water.

“Tyler”

Yes, I saw --
quite by chance --
you dance,

mastered by music,
singing its spell,

and now seek the siren
in a world of clang.

“Walking Home”

Between you and me
is that shrub
and those pebbles,
and they are really hoping
we kiss.

“Skinny”

He said,
"You could tread water
in a garden hose."

True.

But those hips,
wide nimble hands,
concavity --

that boy dreamed the man
growing in his bones.

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