Seen Written

Real people
Like shower sheets
Towel wrapped
Yet, still a little damp
As spring sings
Condensations’ relief
On glass beneath


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


Una Ragazza Può Sognare

Inside Tuscan skies
Dyed sunsets, seaside, deep eyed
By Lambrusco’d nights


By A Chandelier

Where’s the light
Way to show
Like those see
Through real
I’ve esteemed
In deep perspective
How the best
Read book feels
Held in blinks
Between blots of ink


Sigh High

Suspended paper balloons
Drips of crayon colors
Hanging in a gallery’s
Rem cycle installation’s
Harp like white lights
Inviting, still life reaching
Strings tightened as if
A slightest touch would fly


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.


Of Feeling

Sadness can hit like a slap
And, or another hand held
At the same time
Saying damn, into a breath
If as yet it felt a definition
Led left then right
By a finger telling the others
To open up, subconsciously
Touching the beat



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



I didn’t know what to say
That’s alright
Or write like an open book
That’s alright, too
And where to look up the rules
Only by listening
Crowded laughter’s seriousness
Just by listening
Cutting through endless nebulae
With a sword
Holstered against my internal side
Cut by the right