| Date |
Title |
Content |
|
Where Tess Died |
There is a tiny door
of light by the fence... |
|
The Rite of Another Spring |
Rain falls
on the world
into cracks
into... |
|
Spring Time in a Big City |
It was on W. 54th, maybe,
a fragment of a... |
|
The Rite of Spring |
Warm rain falls
in a melody circle
we... |
|
The Vision of Saint John |
Those two hands up in the air
Those two... |
|
And We'll See You Tomorrow Night |
at the intersection of London Road and... |
|
Interlude |
hardwood floors,
short, tied, red hair
a... |
|
Interiors |
Marla: May I ask a stupid... |
|
On the Inside |
Always think
Dickinson,
a mentor once... |
|
Krampus Visits Newtown (2012) |
So you think I wish
to die slowly... |
|
Wanting |
For some reason,
it’s better than... |
|
We Are the Poem |
After, she read to me
from "Disobedience"... |
|
Haves and Nots |
Any food for thought
sooner or later turns... |
|
Going Home |
There are songs sadder
than a two-lane... |
|
Between Towns |
None of us thinks
we’re waiting for
any... |
|
Lacking in Reconciliation |
Somewhere between
all the amens toward the... |
|
In the Orchard |
I see Him
every autumn
in my... |
|
Still More Truth About Rainbows |
Through no fault of her own,
mother landed... |
|
More Truth About Rainbows |
When I see a rainbow, I think
Of my... |
|
The Truth About Rainbows |
You have already learned a son’s love
can... |
|
Time Passages II |
the sky, a green sea, salt,
the sound of... |
|
Fairy Tales |
a short knife left
on the table after her... |
|
Under the Water |
Am talking about
the lightness of water,... |
|
Where We Live |
Old ones on the sidewalks,
bundled up: men... |
|
Modern Validity |
At Mayo Clinic
on bright, white tiles
next... |
|
The pistil and The Bee: A Love Story |
We cannot thank Goat’s Beard
or the number... |
|
9:18 pm on a Saturday |
The pretty waitress the other evening
as... |
|
My Regrets |
Small creatures
shadowing me
from high... |
|
Burial Points |
The field lies open
to everyone, giving... |
|
UnTold Details |
Memories from a small town
are like... |
|
Abstruse |
I think mother was afraid
she might go to... |
|
From This Position |
I hear white lilacs
I see Canadian... |
|
Tapping That Song Out With a Foot |
One of these men lives in a trailer
on a... |
|
On the Brink |
An old man smokes a cigar;
he spits... |
|
Alien Love II |
There were five different rains
this... |
|
Alien Love |
The moon’s fullness
is over, stars
are... |
|
Keeping That Appointment III |
Even though she was released
from the... |
|
Keeping That Appointment II |
How strange to be in two places
at once, in... |
|
Keeping that Appointment |
Speaking only in whispers,
you have been... |
|
Instead, I Paint |
the city inside a poet
is fact
yet... |
|
Sometimes I Paint |
The times when eyes
begin to focus after... |
|
Re-Writing History |
To be upright, biped,
is to be human In... |
|
Year of the Dragon |
The man walking across the path
looked like... |
|
December 26, 1862 (Dakota Hangings) |
Our names were smeared, we
were... |
|
On the Edge of Conceit |
When the wrong people die,
everyone else... |
|
That Narcissistic Moment |
We weren’t born
there, we won’t
die... |
|
Unaware |
One day does nothing
special to mark its... |
|
Over and Again, Please, With Volume |
Bury me, please, naked,
clothes being such... |
|
Baby, It's Cold Out |
Rejoice you are not here yet, flat dead,... |
|
Songs We Know |
Toward the end
of an early evening,
a... |
|
In Sight |
background
In my history
you are still... |
|
Psyche |
(id)
at ten, the bones
of a child’s... |
|
We Prefer Shadows |
Dead people often complain
the rest of us... |
|
In Canvas Shoes |
We set out together
searching for... |
|
The Law of Transposition *(a re-write) |
Everything hangs
by threads
be it the... |
|
Transposition |
Everything hangs
by threads
even the... |
|
Abbey in the Oakwood |
I cup my hands and hold
the... |
|
Written at the Coffee Hag (or)
The Decline of Western Civilization
As We Know It
|
A yellow and rust covered train
engine... |
|
Fairy Tale (1977) |
a witch walked
behind me, fell
to make me... |
|
Portrait of an Unknown Woman |
It’s hard to ignore
a woman whom
you never... |
|
How It Ended |
Can you ever remember
a time when you... |
|
Speak No One |
A few dead moths lie crumpled
beneath a... |
|
Her Vanity |
It was a simple gesture, and he didn’t know... |
|
Two Old Bikes; a Latin Disclaimer |
Their sprockets have sprung;
treads have... |
|
With No Apologies |
She disappeared on a Friday
morning with a... |
|
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? |
When bicycles age,
they seem to search... |
|
Two Old Bicycles in a Basement |
Bury us
in the basement
among... |
|
Spokes |
Out of sight, out of mind
two rusty bikes... |
|
The Logic of Waves |
The mist of the lake
so much like the... |
|
The Anniversary of Mother |
Evening issues
an invitation
and another... |
|
Ninth Wave |
Some folks live their lives
speaking the... |
|
My Father's Herringbone Coat |
My father’s herringbone coat hangs behind... |
|
Unlatched |
An older woman waves
from an older Plymouth... |
|
Sunbaked in Jazz |
Brandy, hot, lingers
on my swollen... |
|
Show Me a Hero |
Welcome back
to Division Street;
halfway... |
|
Two Halves |
One
A small girl,
a white pigeon
on a... |
|
On the Lake |
From the south end, almost Christlike,
a... |
|
The National Gallery Part III |
(I added to Monika Deinard's and Britt... |
|
Young Spartans |
In the secret fields,
naked, white like... |
|
Lives |
You are not in love, you say;
even though... |
|
Still Life (Red Hands) |
When her mother told her
at an early... |
|
Femme Fatale |
Line ‘em up;
shoot ‘em down
Fill all my... |
|
In Bed |
Last night, I heard my dead father
again.... |
|
Imitating Art |
The woman, I think
it’s a woman,... |
|
It's All There in Black and White |
Look, sick Man,
your day vanishes
brightly... |
|
Still Life #51 |
As Lydia Small
watched the Bible
of her... |
|
In Tokyo |
In 1953, father paid 20 dollars
to a... |
|
Poem Nine of One Hundred |
In the unconscious
all water is... |
|
My Mother Baked Bread |
This all happened back when
the railroad... |
|
Nora Knew His Fortress |
“How on God's earth can you possibly love a... |
|
Not Sure Why |
But I thought folks might be interested in... |
|
Dream |
It will end soon,
all of it. It will... |
|
Another Wounded Angel |
Nothing much moving
at eleven pm on the... |
|
Wounded Angels |
She dreamed
about leaving
Wisconsin... |
|
Jim (a wounded Angel) |
Jim slipped quietly
into his clear Bacardi... |
|
Almost |
When one walks alone,
the sky... |
|
In Paris, Or Anywhere |
Rain falls
into our lives
like grace,... |
|
It's Raining, Hallelujah |
the bells of a trolley
cafe... |
|
A Shorter Odessey |
It’s a silent film, really, that space
in... |
|
A Clear, Green Sea Poem |
Rocks at the bottom of the clear green
sea;... |
|
Another Creation |
A man stands
in front
of a snow bank... |
|
Loner |
All around you and then black
sky, a... |
|
Edge |
The outer black reminds you how
the sun... |
|
The Lives of Ordinary People |
Even though they may
feel guilty; they... |
|
The Egos of Heroes |
The body has limits but no claim
on the... |
|
Why Writing Theatre is Reclusive |
That would be a woman combing
her hair.... |
|
How We Live |
As she brushes her hair, she asks me
to... |
|
Ashes |
With her red hair
and white tunic,
she is... |
|
She Says She Still Loves Him |
She hears him
lift a can, pour beer
into a... |
|
Fetal Position |
Two years ago, Jesus found me
down the... |
|
Still Life #64 (Perspective) |
A single-bed;
overhead,
three... |
|
Fetus Lives |
I speak of tiny lives
given to the light;... |
|
An Invitation to My Life (Resurrection) |
My entire family;
if you can find ... |
|
2:00 am (1979) |
There at the bar
he suffers dusk
to... |
|
Resurrection |
Anything that needs
to be said about... |
|
The Origin of Fear |
It is just there
one morning:
a single... |
|
The Sorrow of Birds |
Two mourning doves
on a thin wire;
a... |
|
Night People |
They like being out
at night, late,... |
|
Random Black Dream #116 |
I’m back at the house on Daniels Avenue
and... |
|
What's There |
Rain at 6:00 am
is almost lavender
as it... |
|
All the White Crosses |
Everyone is there
alone
Dauntless,... |
|
The Bar |
This is the beginning of a one act play of... |
|
August 10, 1969 |
After, Charlie lies down, naked,
in the... |
|
August 9, 1969 |
Tex Watson to Charles Manson
while exiting... |
|
Anniversary Tonight |
She notices a lone apple
in the crisper... |
|
Bill |
Bill lived
across the street
from my brown... |
|
A Sliver of Glass |
I’m not sure what
needs to be... |
|
The History of the World, My Ass |
After all the howling
is done, and... |
|
Door to My Father's Past |
1.
One of the last times I saw you
your... |
|
Happy Birthday, Robert L. Burns |
The probability of life
is... |
|
But Who's Counting? |
Houses breathe;
people sweat
Along about... |
|
A July Afternoon at the Welcome Matt Tavern |
The air this afternoon is heavy
with rain... |
|
Website for |
If anyone is interested in HOWL the movie,... |
|
What I Know About Ginsberg |
…he just wanted to dig
some kind of new... |
|
My Mother Lived in a Glass House |
She saw everything around her,
knew... |
|
Mother's Untitled Ode |
All mothers age and look
for their own... |
|
Still Life #47 (Emily Small's Recurring Nightmare) |
About this time
every night,
the moon... |
|
Bridge People |
They live in places
where people
are... |
|
Victor Speaks to the Monster on His Last Night |
I hear them outside,
murder in their... |
|
It's the First of the Month |
Have you ever come to a point
where you... |
|
Glinda Was Right |
Under the skin of every surface
touched is... |
|
The Origin of Redneck |
In May of 1988
the United States
Supreme... |
|
Marilyn |
One needn’t believe in Heaven
or Hell to... |
|
A Birthday Poem |
One can pack months,
even years, into a... |
|
Still Life #44 (Pure Folly) |
Lydia Small was heard
screaming at the... |
|
The Rain of the End |
The house is closed up again. It is
not... |
|
Between Two Worlds |
She looks twice good
in this white room;... |
|
Missing Link |
There’s something primitive
yet necessary... |
|
New Math |
I read somewhere
Ken and Barbie... |
|
Tale |
Though she has been dead
for near ten... |
|
Wisconsin Barfly (1978) |
I wait for her to be alone
I write a poem... |
|
After the Affair |
The water rises slightly,
removing her... |
|
Semi-Private |
I cannot tell how this poem should
start: ... |
|
Thinking Alike |
I read a poem last night
written three... |
|
Leaving Wisconsin |
Inside my memory
your name is useless... |
|
Dialogue with Self |
I stand with my back
to the fence, your... |
|
She Said No |
You say you don’t remember
you are in love... |
|
Exposure |
You are no longer hunted;
the beasts of... |
|
My Apology |
I fingered her comb
and traced where her... |
|
The Woman Refused |
There is a silence
about the... |
|
Creating a Woman |
I am writing
at my desk
trying to make
a... |
|
Life in a Northern Town |
It is mid-morning; he is... |
|
Queen of the Night |
She undresses. She
has an... |
|
Needles Underfoot |
To walk before dawn
at the first show of... |
|
Girl in Forest |
Vines from her fingers
and the honey... |
|
4th Street NE |
It’s late and the laundromat
smells of rain... |
|
Open All Night |
It isn’t what you think. It never is.
The... |
|
Migrations |
The chrysanthemums outside my... |
|
Still Life #53 (11:00 pm) |
Lydia Small has been on these stairs
since... |
|
A Question of Premonition |
There is no way to know, really,
the... |
|
Circles |
I’ve heard of people who can’t
let go:... |
|
A Short Play About Kansas City (or not) |
(Scene i)
I wish my father would die
in... |
|
In a Tavern on May 1 (1978) |
The woman at the end looks
like she’s in... |
|
I Found These Thoughts |
Wherever you are
then I will go too
we... |
|
This Morning, God is a Woman |
This morning nothing
more than warm rain;... |
|
The History of History |
The woman is born
with a little fire
in... |
|
The Year Everything Started (1975) |
I remember her,
the older girl with... |
|
Still Life #65 (After the Funeral) |
Behave: you are already drying
out beneath... |
|
Still LIfe #64 (Waterbirth) |
Lydia Small is pregnant
with ideas
They... |
|
It'd Be a Shame |
you look lonely there
in the water, half... |
|
We Back |
Hello,... |
|
On my Bookcase |
On my bookcase is a vase... |
|
Good Bye |
Saying good-bye
is better than imagining... |
|
Thank you, Britt |
I've gone through a few writing phases in my... |
|
My father is John Doe |
I learn the most about you
by what you... |
|
For the Next Hundred Years |
When I look I see only those
people whose... |
|
Flood and Aftermath |
He’s useless
as a lover
what i want
is... |
|
Flood |
So if you can
try and fit
your body,... |
|
That Table. That Light. |
i)
i think of you
when i use my... |
|
One Tale Heard Upon Visiting Nova Scotia |
I’ve heard that sea wives cook
oysters... |
|
Act of Contrition |
a silver bucket
filled with uncracked... |
|
Up on Madison Street Hill |
It is possible more
poets would come
to... |
|
My Youngest Child's Face |
It was never more
beautiful
than when... |
|
A Child's Face of Poverty |
People walk by,
toss you their wishes... |
|
A Child's Face of Divorce |
Last night i pretended i was
a small slice... |
|
The Only Way to End an Affair |
There is this space behind my body
which... |
|
Another Way to End an Affair |
a candle’s dying
makes the candle
live... |
|
One Way to End an Affair |
Woman hears
his voice:
she cannot... |
|
Contrition |
The red entered her body
as subtly as the... |
|
Still Life 30 (Lydia Small Loses Her Virginity) |
The naked piece
of her art shifted red
on... |
|
Freshman (1971) |
All of us boys heard the stories
about... |
|
Still Life #28 (The Propagation of Lydia Small) |
It has nothing to do with shedding... |
|
Postscripts |
If only his nights would close around... |
|
Ask Them |
Twist your neck like a bird
back to when... |
|
Still Life #24 (Closer) |
Now that I am
there
I realize
I am... |
|
Still Life #23 (Carry On) |
presidents aren’t anything
new
ideas... |
|
Still Life 17 (Obama) |
his black, porcelain
face
his onion... |
|
Still Life 11, 12, 13 |
Still Life #11 (Wake)
A former student... |
|
Still Life 6 & 7 |
Still Life 6
old Scotch never--
I tell... |
|
Still Life 4 & 5 |
Still Life 4
There are stars
out... |
|
Still Life 2 & 3 |
Still Life 2
During the movie
i laughed... |
|
Still Life Through Window |
A woman watches apples
in their wooden... |
|
Christmas With Father |
I bring him a new electric razor today;
his... |
|
In This House |
Gather
the sun before the snow
man... |
|
A Young Martyr |
i)
If there were a God
and he had a... |
|
Tips of my Fingers |
The rhythm and the tapping
of the tips of... |
|
Starchild |
Buddha preaches the world
will blink when... |
|
Lore |
The snow has come with its promise
of... |
|
Can I Help You? |
(for: Crossing the Line)
I picture her... |
|
journal (1971) |
i wouldn’t dream
of writing... |
|
In Blackness, It All Sounds Alike (A Ten Minute Play) |
|
|
An Unfinished Story |
Sheep graze
in the back yard,
cats... |
|
One Feeble Attempt to Explain My Death |
This must be what’s it’s like
floating... |
|
A Street to Heaven |
I used to bartend high atop
East Madison... |
|
Showtime |
Now you see it, now
you don’t, says the... |
|
Unbroken |
the real
tragedy
of this... |
|
Natural Theology |
It’s in the blue wind,
next to the blue... |
|
On Behalf of All Ann Hibbins Everywhere |
There’s anger here
but she keeps it
to... |
|
Rae Ann |
You were a lovely
cold sculpture (pretty)... |
|
Nymph West 84 |
Singing is lonely
but it’s what i do
to... |
|
Leaning |
Suddenly thirsty
myself, after
leaning... |
|
Father's Advancing Age of Illness |
“I wished nothing”
Louis Murphy
Father’s... |
|
Instinct Re-visited |
And what is a willow tree
but a weeping... |
|
As Above, So Below |
How a young Marine driving
a tank through... |
|
Instinct |
You never say anything about
the words you... |
|
After the Bell |
She is sixteen and honest and her Luxemburg... |
|
Renaissance Man |
The man is stirred by love and basks
in... |
|
The Uncommonality of War and Geese |
Hundreds of geese have
returned to their... |
|
To My Father on a Trip to Iowa |
It’s impossible to remember everything. We... |
|
In Front of a Convenience Store |
A black ’98 Suburban idles
at a red light... |
|
Conciousness |
A warm southwest
wind blows unsettlingly; ... |
|
In Your Eyes |
The sky resembled something
different last... |
|
Sabbatical |
i know it. i knew it.
i feel it. a... |
|
On the Metro to Andrew Square |
I see her face traveling
in the glass... |
|
A Young Woman |
She sits in the far leather
chair, scars... |
|
Someone or Else |
If love were only a word
rather than a... |
|
Unnoticed |
The silence we don’t hear
makes the most... |
|
A Small Piece |
There’s that certain phase
of morning when... |
|
After the Heat of the Day |
After the heat of the day:
the burning... |
|
A Doll's Life |
Once from her cellophane
box, she was... |
|
My Two Sons |
Are strong. They are two. Their shins
are... |
|
She's Alone in the Kitchen |
Every day is another piece,
a few new... |
|
George Died |
Did he die because
7 dirty words were too... |
|
This-Morning |
i once read the heart grows larger
after... |
|
October 11, 1975 |
Henry Broderick was buried...
his... |
|
Decade |
1.
the body,
a... |
|
Another World is Red |
The hardest color to explore
with its... |
|
Along a Georgia Coast |
The water talks, slow
voiced and early... |
|
In Another World |
People in the village
call them... |
|
The Poet is Fifty |
When his name is called,
he rises, destined... |
|
When the Marriage Ends |
I want you to scatter my ashes
at dusk on... |
|
The Growing Season |
the soft petals of peonies
white, and... |
|
Along the Chippewa |
My world turns into silence
and this... |
|
A Simpler Chaos |
God grass, God trees,
God water, the... |
|
Pitt Street Theory |
You tell me a story
about a story that... |
|
Not on Paper |
Father now writes at night about our... |
|
They Married Young |
She’s a lovely cold
sculpture, pretty... |
|
Thin Things |
Johnson married Johnson
on June 14,... |
|
Two Stories |
|
|
The Johnsons |
|
|
Shooting the Shit on a Sunday Afternoon |
|
|
Seeing Things |
you tell me the night
is nothing more... |
|
Two Glass Birds |
shush. night noise
is waking us and... |
|
One Play after Two (am) |
he doesn’t much care for this... |
|
Another Morning Dove |
one morning dove on
the wire above my... |
|
Parent and Child |
a new world
lit by spring
when all... |
|
Anastasis |
Off-white magnolias
in a crystal... |
|
Ten past Midnight |
the son touches his desk lamp
with a thumb... |
|
There. A Poem. |
in blackberry tea
on a white oak... |
|
Waiting for the Muse |
a clock is ticking—
grandmother’s... |
|
think Dickinson |
think Dickinson
a mentor once told me,
go... |
|
Looking |
once in a blue moon
a poem will begin to... |
|
The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword |
This was my winning essay in "The Great... |
|
First Poems |
What came first
constellations
or those... |
|
Roger Miller - An American Sentence |
A gravel voiced man with short and snapping... |
|
Suburbia |
People live in this house.
The house fits... |
|
Numerology |
Most of us are statistical: two
children,... |
|
And More About Numbers |
in the rear kitchen window
spider webs... |
|
More About Numbers |
Pythagoras believed
all things are... |
|
Once Neighbors |
together they lived
across the street
from... |
|
The Animal Inside |
A One Minute Play
Hotel Room. Dallas is... |
|
Visitations |
i hear them outside
in lonely... |
|
Passing the Egg |
he said please
take it from
my two... |
|
Near a Bridge in 1978 |
once in tossed leaves of yellow
and orange... |
|
Egg in Snow |
sometimes,
he seems lost in... |
|
Off Off-Broadway |
one with glued white hair and twisted
like... |
|
Real Theatre |
Never open a play
with blotchy weather... |
|
Tap Roots |
tell me why
no Tomb of the Unknown... |
|
Listening to Alice Cooper |
an evening
lush with stars
“look at... |
|
At the Root |
the world
has given
me many
things:... |
|
Lines & Leather Pockets 1979 |
even the name has charm: pool
table; and... |
|
Roots |
Years from now our roots will
tell... |
|
Drive-By Cemetery |
in late winter
all the cherries
and... |
|
Drive By 1974 |
Charlene was my prom date in 1974
she asked... |
|
A Drive-By (a two minute play) |
(Late afternoon. Motel room. ... |
|
Drive-By Shooting |
all words are tiny flames
most consumed in... |
|
The View from Over There |
it’s never too late for the bomb
squad,... |
|
No Longer Looking |
the man is in an empty room, a cracked... |
|
Poetry Reading |
the poet speaks
to them from behind
his... |
|
Other woman |
she said, whisper
words, kissed
my... |
|
Comes the Song |
a song comes, an older
song, filtering into... |
|
Between Lines |
so many books
with so many pages
and... |
|
Fat Tuesday |
there has to be grace,
let’s look for it... |
|
Animal Heaven |
After sundown, more toward nightfall,
the... |
|
What Happened |
father never took slow showers.
he never... |
|
She at Piano |
flames flicker
from a back... |
|
Knowing Your Hate |
dragging the night away,
the moon laughing... |
|
Birth Shiver |
a white-out
on the highway
((ice wind... |
|
What I Tell People about turning Fifty |
i tell them i eat red herring,
kipper... |
|
What I'm Thinking When You Said Coffee |
What are saying
with those soft... |
|
Writing a Poem |
i sit between coffee pot & cup... |
|
The History of Coffee |
kona, Jamaican Blue Mountain,... |
|
Cafe |
a true Wisconsin cafe serves late
evening... |
|
Remains in Light Part ii |
there she is again
momentum is her... |
|
Remains in Light |
i pity the moon
each evening she backs... |
|
Welcome |
there’s nothing left to say
even in the... |
|
Man From Worlds Remembered |
Bob Dylan sings
on the black vinyl... |
|
Consolation |
note the necessity
of small hands
the... |
|
ecstasy |
ain’t all
it’s cracked
up to be
*
not... |
|
Captive |
you are breath,
open mouth
inhale... |
|
faces of doubt |
eagles are too large,
love birds too... |
|
Happy New Year! |
Happy New Year to all. Such a wonderful and... |
|
New Year's Days |
these are the days when the sun hides
and... |
|
Christmas |
December. Wisconsin. 1968. I write
the... |
|
One of My Quiet Places |
after closing the tavern on the top of... |
|
late summer 1983 |
the late sun fires
down on the slate... |
|
All the Signs are There |
Drove approximately 4,200 miles between... |
|
Rendezvous |
you are the rustle of leaves as we... |
|
Lean |
inspired by the photo
|
|
Black Gloves |
In response to Wendy's E-mail poem
i do... |
|
In Front of Heaven Years Ago |
We walked. I was in front by step. Can’t... |
|
1st Page of Kellsey Jean Hogan DVD script |
Am posting this because it's a different... |
|
Even the Popcorn was Stale |
My old lovers don’t exist anymore. They were... |
|
American Dreams 2007 |
Before the winter storm one of the last... |
|
ReWrites |
arriving on the hardwood floor this morning,... |
|
Confess |
it’s a cold November evening and the... |
|
Wings & Flight |
|
|
Out From the Trees |
This morning
I found a fallen leaf,
a... |
|
Mercy |
Just because i can’t
feel it, doesn’t... |
|
Dancing Shoes, A Thanksgiving Story |
Sam drove one of those crystal nights when... |
|
Loneliness for One, Please |
it opens
your heart
first love
must... |
|
Club Saratoga |
somewhere the night turns
on you
... |
|
Boys' Night Out |
for Bar Fight
emptied pockets: loose... |
|
Like you |
i used to be
like you,
shine
like... |
|
Healer |
once,
in the middle
of the night
the... |
|
Frida Kahlo |
she sits in sunlight,
shadows of... |
|
The Love Embrace of the Universe |
between heaven & hell
so much happens, it’s... |
|
V |
a letter without hands
people dressed in... |
|
Thousands Died and We Pray |
protesters pray
for something... |
|
Army of One |
Not what i expect:
one man among passing... |
|
Unsaid |
that after hours in a museum are as... |
|
Missing Music |
(part i)
the sunset
acts as backdrop... |
|
Negative Capability |
today i love Keats
tomorrow, maybe... |
|
Middle Aged, Sitting |
guilt arrived
at fifty
with a bad... |
|
Letter to my Father |
a rewrite
i am no longer acquainted with... |
|
Letter to my Father |
i am no longer acquainted with you
there.... |
|
domesticate |
by lightning,
she said,
in bits
and... |
|
Corn |
beautiful is the field
filled with drying... |
|
Choice |
one small choice would be
should door... |
|
I Do |
for photo Bride
when a man beats a... |
|
Visiting my Father in Wisconsin |
for the photo:
|
|
Without You This Evening |
the geese are in the empty fairground field.... |
|
Stay-stitching |
no one
ever
told me
the one
about the... |
|
Vacant Eden |
Please see the image
|
|
His Corner Will Be Empty Without Him |
his empty corner opens
into my heart of... |
|
All These Men |
owls, all of them
lacing the lumber
of... |
|
Labor Day Man |
i pay my bills
i smile when... |
|
Exposed |
i shouldn’t have to describe this,
even... |
|
Supporting Faith |
as deep July brews
dried flowers... |
|
Sing, Goddess |
for
|
|
Composition |
my father has learned the terrible... |
|
Fantasia Fair (1974) |
there is never enough
time
for the county... |
|
From Oar to Anchor |
for that older woman
who once rocked... |
|
August 1, 2007 |
Rattlled magpies
fled like... |
|
A Simple Tale |
(for
|
|
In Gratitude |
for years, our man wrote
soft strokes,... |
|
Before It Happens |
rain, then a dangerous happiness
consisting... |
|
Simple Math |
Pythagoras believed in numbers,
that all... |
|
Tomato |
to
|
|
It Trembles to a Lily |
to
|
|
Water might Walk |
(For:
|
|
Secrets (a ten minute play) |
(for the photo: Eternal Home)
(Mallory... |
|
Tether Line |
to
|
|
Of Love by Water |
to
|
|
Deep |
to
|
|
Living Ugly (Portrait of a House - Part III) |
no mail is delivered in the four days i am... |
|
Not Far from Virginia Beach (Self-portrait of a House - Part II) |
Buddy lives there, stoned
& flaccid, near... |
|
A Perfect Color |
a person lived here once i see him
in a... |
|
All Lies |
For the photo,
|
|
Why We Die |
(for the photo:
|
|
tenancy (for: Three Things |
For the photo,
|
|
Later |
For the photo,
|
|
Sunday, May, 11pm |
For the painting
|
|
One past Midnight |
For the work
|
|
Staredown |
the poet
believes
his own
eyes,... |
|
Three Thoughts about Maple for Ansel |
For the photo
|
|
Trinni, Posing in Grass |
For the photo
|
|
In Situ |
For the photo
|
|
Avian |
For the photo
|
|
Neon Russell |
For the photo
|
|
Candra's Beverage |
For the photo
|
|
Kyla |
For the photo
|
|
Always on the Porch, ever Since |
From the photo
|
|
Check-Up |
fear and eroticism are excellent
bed mates... |
|
Lilith in Virginia |
Lilith reposes yet again,
acquiring her... |
|
Wishing in Eau Claire County (1971) |
June, and a boy watches the woman, her body... |
|
Deciduous |
we heal, simply, others,
like leaves... |
|
Taproot |
i fear
i have dutch elm... |
|
Mary, Mother |
your boy is perfect
in every way,... |
|
Among Fifty White Stones |
blue sky blends
into a somber fog,
soon... |
|
the Disappearing bust of Voltaire |
so, Voltaire’s lost his head again,
has he?... |
|
Midnight on the Rooftop Studio |
everyone, at some point in their lives,... |
|
Reply to Red |
red is, not god:
the color... |
|
Events Occurring Outside the Box: |
Chocolates are delivered
to small... |
|
Bending of Trees |
wind is not your friend,
it is an annoying... |
|
fasting |
the debate rages
for forty days,
nine... |
|
the sameness of things |
surely the water
we step into
was there,... |
|
On sleepless nights |
i’d love to sing to you at night, lightly
... |
|
Line of Separation |
tonight,
no phone
calls,... |
|
Learning Curve (a one minute play) |
Setting: Apartment / Cold. Parent is... |
|
spawning |
this is a secret
place
this is black... |
|
Food Chain |
The dorsal fin of the white crappie
has six... |
|
1951 says the Voice |
this is a poem
about missing
*
about... |
|
torso of Apollo |
(i)
this only means
i love you & your... |
|
demise |
at the end of our
relationship
i... |
|
Poise in Smooth Dancing |
it’s your life now, hold it close—
like an... |
|
Lesson |
Some of us gaze into our dance
partner’s... |
|
Edvard's Ashes |
(i)
If this woman be avian,
up... |
|
Lesson in photography |
Best to pose in a double bed
singles are... |
|
The Day After / Edvard Munch |
(i)
she is not ordinary—
even as she... |
|
Fried Noodles |
The egg noodles were boiled for eleven... |
|
Here |
dreams mean a little less,
Boreas trains... |
|
In my Hands |
it’s always my hands which push
my face... |
|
The age of Contextual Smallness |
A real education may be nothing
more than... |
|
Shy words |
sometimes it seems
even the most... |
|
shy words |
sometimes it seems,
even the most... |
|
Untitled red |
i peer into redness,
... |
|
five Different looks |
december elm, dry ravined bark
like the... |
|
haiku |
thousands of children,
confined to fields... |
|
worship |
the cold gray metal of the center... |
|
Tomorrow, the body |
i am convinced heaven will reward
those who... |
|
In There (re-write) |
for forty-seven years of marriage
mother... |
|
In there |
for forty-seven years of marriage
mother... |
|
secret places |
in a different poem i was afraid
of my... |
|
including everything |
an infinite word,
like a person’s... |
|
Should tell you |
I saw you this morning, rising
as you... |
|
Gong fu |
under foreign tea leaves
we lie, far from... |
|
need theories |
(i) i’m lucky the box
has no cover & i... |
|
old time music |
sometimes it only seems,
the Everly... |
|
Emmet County |
i) it’s Halloween afternoon
in small town... |
|
Outtakes |
my hand (1980
my hand held itself up... |
|
old movies & glass bears |
(i)
i refuse to trace metaphors
drink... |
|
every night |
the grave digger comes away
from his last... |
|
the rest years |
years have passed--almost 50--
now and... |
|
Oct 30) an aesthetic letter to myself |
there are certain times
when i look at my... |
|
one basic element |
find words that taste of salt,
pass them to... |
|
proprietorship |
it is impossible to own
a moment or a... |
|
tenure |
i still see them when
i look in student... |
|
scribbles |
little children can
not, leave instead... |
|
instinct |
Once, a long time ago,
when i thought the... |
|
violence of the birch |
(i)
the body on the ground,
the kicks to... |
|
october girl of ten |
in my upstairs bedroom, on the west
side of... |
|
one behind the other |
they say behind
every great man
is a... |
|
natural penance |
from the south end, almost Christlike, the... |
|
lost girls |
you sleep Nazi
dreams on metal
clouds &... |
|
thirty-fifth & Nicholas |
stomach is for
hunger, silence
is wall... |
|
Snips and snails and.... |
i am learning my father--again
once,... |
|
wordage |
what if all our words ever said
were still... |
|
8th hour lit |
students in desks, interior
of bedlam,... |
|
portal |
when i see my father, no matter
how... |
|
vanitas |
sometimes, even in my own home,
a need... |
|
choices |
just words passing
between two people: ... |
|
Beyond the Sea (ii) |
with empty belly, adam
reaches for purple... |
|
under construction |
i will be writing you soon
as to who i am,... |
|
space |
an open window nuns
in shadows ... |
|
wind speed |
i reside very slowly
these days in... |
|
glimpse |
(i)
a night full of rain, my... |
|
...thousand one, ...thousand two |
at
long
last
came
a man
who... |
|
script |
father sits, seemingly
abandoned in his... |
|
the other night |
you were talking
from across the room
i... |
|
ellipse |
there are other women
out there in this... |
|
water dipping |
a child is pushed
from the confines
of... |
|
anthem |
be the last empty glass,
be the roof tops... |
|
How the Leopard got its Spots |
a familiar night
voice spoke to me
with... |
|
the girls of summer |
i need not search
for the girls of... |
|
instructions |
i want to not want
certain belongings:... |
|
beyond the sea |
saline hazelnut eyes, female
burning,... |
|
balcony scene |
It was raining. The grass felt like walking... |
|
out of art |
not oil painting
not still portrait,
nor... |
|
delaying certain death |
written on night sweat
thick thoughts... |
|
Dreams at Ten, Twelve & Sixteen |
i like dreams
where everything
is... |
|
slow poison (a haiku) |
ladder man absent
after she stopped loving... |
|
primitive art |
father at table
this moon
day's dim light... |
|
(for Michelle 1972 |
in the northeast corner
of the city, near... |
|
a good day to die |
(i)
is more than wood
burning, is... |
