poems

• Stult If I

  I continue jaywalking

  across the billion-lane old,

  echt traffic aiming at my

  imagination.

• Out of the Market, Endlessly

  
  On the other side

  of wolf, and dreaming a bright

  green pasture,

  
  I literally

  wait and see what happens next

  to me, and don’t care about the rest.

• Unreviewable Call

  Intersection

  of an angel

  and my changing

  from an aging

  meander to

  a firm angle

  younger than sin.

• It’s

  It’s

  easy

  to play

  a dastard

  on the stage

  in pantomime,

  but

  in real

  life, the part

  is the hardest.

  Like the real Devil,

  nobody wants the job.

  So

  I try

  to be

  good, and listen

  to the birds and whatnot,

  and say “please,” “thank you,”

  and “I’m sorry” a lot,

  ignoring the cold

  should.

• Before Mossiness

  Wallace Stevens

  couldn’t see it

  in words too ripe,

  about to fall,

  dead nourishment

  for the orbit

  of aliens.

• Theater of a System

  The muscular

  telephone wires

  connecting squirrels

  in a network

  of scurry and

  pause, are briars

  tangled and pure.

• Paisley Was

  There is nothing

  more poetic

  than a Denny’s

  on a Tuesday

  night in some non-

  diegetic

  rut of suburb.

• Cleaving to Besetzung

  Invisibly

  rebar supports

  the concrete wall

  as it learns to

  be in the air,

  a risen thing.

• Thorn Blossom

  Down into the infinite

  valleys of my rusty brown

  shag carpeting, I will go,

  before I say no.

• Facing the Game

  
  The seriousness

  of never being serious

  is beyond

  
  burning, to ashes.

  Through an occasional arch

  the zagging butterfly meanders.