Ghetto Pain Roads narrowed by food sellers Houses peeling and leaking Children walking bare feet With windowed garments Women breaking their backs As their husbands are hammering Anvils into meals Sirens are heard A house is on fire Shouts are... Continue Reading →
Except It drizzles all night and all morning and when I try to start the car it will not This happens often and I do not have a hammer at hand nor a stick of dynamite so I walk in... Continue Reading →
Fireworks, Mollyocket Day We can go down Hudson's Hill just a bit, climb the banking, and see them above Bennett's Auto. Just us, an entire moon, the night breeze blowing through July pines, keeping off the mosquitoes. What would the... Continue Reading →
Rain and Toothless Angels In my city, it always rains. Water falls with an intensity that only belongs to fables or dreams. Serious, insistent, almost solid, a cloth made by hands without eyes. It rains on currency circulating in shopping... Continue Reading →
The Souvenir At Connemara Marble, on tour in Ireland you bought a rosary handmade from polished stones sea green, black veins the quarry’s stock-in-trade connected by a sturdy chain, as if for hands too stiff to finger through more closely... Continue Reading →
Shadows “Poetry is the only art people haven’t yet learned to consume like soup.” -- W. H. Auden I want to slip acceptance into a bowl of Campbell’s Alphabet Soup. Maybe she will swallow it then, give up this fixation... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 