-
Should I Fold My Kite?
Doing my small
thing is easy
in this city
of wilderness;
nothing fancy
my wherewithal.
-
Polysyllabic Muse
Suddenly she
wants a brick wall
and a big dog
in her quarters,
sconces with wax
puddling o’er.
-
Starting for Shore
Ancestor boy
astonishing
your small public
with a weakness
for wandering,
cantor of rain.
-
Witch Hazel Eyes
The coy of my ancestor,
a royal 17-year-old
with a fantastic scowl,
warms me from the brink.
-
Frond of Sleep
To my ancestorselves, living in the graveyard
of my age,
I listen at night.They sometimes whisper a slight
word of reminder I am them too.
-
I Wake Up
I wake up
before
the birds
to sing to
myself a pause,
and pretty
soon
the birds
are filling
it with their
own music of
trembling the air.
I waited in line
too
for fame,
and when
it was my
turn,
nobody
shook me
from the slower
dream I was already
corridors
into.
Forever.
-
Use the Door on G Street
My hometown is
wherever pen
and paper greet
like I’ve never
left the old fen
of loam and peat.
-
Pawning for Knight
The orchid roots
are wet slender
green creeping slugs
in the red mix.
Art and ardor
make good cahoots.
-
The Unprofessional
I’m crawling out
from behind my
ability—
really, it’s me—
from purblind years
of falling in.
-
Candescent
Because there is wind and rain
and because I am waiting
inside for the good coffee
to finish percolating,
because I was warm last night
as my instant dreams caressed
and because the distant train
intones like a Wurlitzer,
I know I am here.
poems
from the good city
poems 