The Tragedy of the StickertreeOnce upon a time, there was a tree. The tree was special, and it was alone. It lived with its mundane brethren and watched life parade around it. In its youth birds tried alighting in its branches, but they did not stay, and in time no animal came near the tree. One day, a young woman came to the glen by accident, for it was in an obscure place, and no man had been there and cared enough to tell of it. She spied the tree, the special tree, and sat beneath it; she let go a heavy breath and slept beneath it. When she awoke, she felt as though a whole night's sleep had filtered through her, and she returned home, light as down on the breeze.
For years, the woman would come under the tree to rest. She was a teacher, she was, at a schoolhouse nearby; and though she was gentle, she was under great stress, for the children were an unruly bunch. She was glad to live a spartan life, for it was her dream to t
I RememberThe streetI Remember12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is more naked than me.
The buildings are not all in shards.
They're like fingers or Babel, as tall
as the day they were born. I can speak and I wish
to- these toes
are not mine, mine are smoother not covered in thorn.
Earth. Where is the earth on my feet, where's the
filth where the weeds, taken hold, grow
tenaciously up to the sky.
So coarse and so hard and so gray.
And I am so pink and so mottled with what
could not in conception be dirt. Could be grease
or be ashes. And with gravel grained in
to my soles.
Only the bareness and clutter around me, there once was a time
when our homes carried us in their backs.
They would leak sometimes liquor
that the cat of the neighbor would drink.
And would suffer. It was never the liquor you drink.
Where are the voices that called out
Old Goat at each other next door?
Where are the voices that would not speak Four because Four spoke too harshly meant Die?
The Sun is not fallen the Moon is not taken and
the heart, foldsthe heart, folds11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The heart, is an origami fold.
Emotions spooling miles of thread
Dangle me from:
The apex of a leaf [with a thousand veins to spare]
Half a moon [still flooding oceans not with tungsten spots]
Window panes [broken of its glass holding together dirty fingerprints]
elemental indecisionelemental indecision11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
One might think this is a joke
however, this is the poem that never ended
and it starts with a dead fish
asleep on the shoreline of another poem
that dreams itself into a stone.
Now, two philosophers walk into a poem
one quite old and weathered by thought
the other, very young
who looked like a new word
hot on the tail of becoming an official
entry in the encyclopedia.
The young philosopher looks at the old
and asks "Why are we here?"
The old philosopher turns to him,
scratches some vowels off of his chin
and repeats the first stanza of the poem
as if it were a question.
Meanwhile, our dead fish stone rolls
into the word ocean of another poem
and dreams the poetry into gold
as the two philosophers are stuck
searching for the meaning
of a dead fish dreaming
in the first stanza
of a poem that never ended.