It Must

Must it pace
Trace around
The paper for
Maybe mutations

In marginal
Faint scribblings

Written in too
Fast yet settling as
Letting itself
Left graced in trust


I Can’t Even Go There

I saw a “professional mountain climber”
He served me chai tea last Friday
Refilled my cup pre empty, he remembers
Looking at photos of him in his puffy
Coat at Everest base camp
It’s expensive, he said, to have to turn back
Avalanches sped before the chance
Reminisces years he framed
Each Hillary steep step cable clipped as if

Out Of The Blue

I hated birds and paper
Speech creased reach
Wings laying faceless
Flightless nightvisions
Like daily migrations
Fighting against the tide

Scribed blue blacked
And lovingly stuffed
Inside to ride the white
Stripe’s silent surrender
Of messages unleashed
From ink stained beaks

I love birds and paper
And sand castle bridges
Hinged on brisk winds
If that’s where pictures
Meet with moving scripts
As if lifted, read, then said

Like A Bell

Tonight it rang. Memory didn’t say, name.
Like spoken word rarely says I.
They say hands, throat, caught, hope
to the stage curtain ropes where the lines are.
Far enough to be stars, lyrics of luck.
Wished untucked from the diary’s metaphors
hushed under the bed.
Reread with a flashlight, underlining dots, hearts
apart of versed intelligence mentioned in illustrated
detail, staying phonetically out,
Loud. If, I wouldn’t shut up. I can say that now.
If, whether, eyes, display, how, by the way, name.


Spoken in code
Wrote to decipher
Reality’s mode
Typos unseen as
Cleavage tattoos
Misprinted on the
Bottom of a foot
Princess’s soot
Rooted in solely
Cleanliness, it’s
Messy business
White washed
Said, distressed
And tested for
Painted, scraped
Glazed on layers
Displayed in mirror’s
Silver gilded cover
Over another color
As ink beneath