Steel Perch

I

                                     a                    m

      sur      roun                                                                                ded  .

Con                                                                   crete 

c                  ur                         t ain                                       s

                                   stif                                                                                    fly 

                con                                          ceal

   ____ what  _____________ could______________have  __________ been.

A bird with no cage. 

Blobulating

The history 

stitched across 

        the bridge 

of my nose 

in carnation 

pink creases says 

heed the

  jutted pull 

  of a slithering 

   zipper striking 

  from a 

sleepless 

        sleeping 

  bag snake 

 preying on 

an eager 

    teenage girl 

    tum  bling  a  round 

a boy-shaped 

blob also 

not sleeping 

     on a

bed of 

    undulating

sand 

with 

no

known curfew

Luciferin

1.

Firefly morse code

from inside the vast mouth 

of a sleeping day.

B     L       INK       I    NG

good night because 

in this moment 

it is just that. 

2.

Cool neon 

airborne pheromones

perennial bloom burst.

Their silent fireworks 

deliver a celestial body

into cupped hands.

3,

A sacred summer ritual,

complete. 

BIGGER BLACKER DEATH

I CAN ONLY ASSUME

BOB KAUFMAN SWITCHED

TO ALL CAPS

TO SCARE AWAY
THE BURNING AMERICAN 

SON ALONE 

FOR ALL ETERNITY
AND RATTLE THE

BLEACHED BONES OF A POET

BLEEDING OUT IN 

POEM AFTER POEM

UNTIL HIS OATH 

OF SILENCE
BECAME PERMANENT. 

March

We are expectant 

mothers eagerly 

awaiting your delivery 

room to open 

mouth roar then 

in a yawning 

bore and
indiscriminately sprinkle
green

EVERYWHERE.

Matisse millions
of unblended strokes
unstruck matches
stiffly wait 

to be sun set 

afire. 

This Poem Is

a bridge to an island

inhabited by 

a single person

uncaged intimacy

holding light up 

to a place that has only 

existed in total darkness

unrecorded names

etched in stone;

marking graves I 

never dared to recall

or memorialize

a sacred sanctuary 

where I can run

into myself and discover 

we speak the same language 

in a crowded land

a rule-less expression

children know instinctually

but, adults carelessly shed;

forgetting that a captured 

imagination makes

our dreams real

an urgent call, 

an uncorked bottle,

a game of telephone 

where contact turns silence 

into a permanent 

and pertinent connection

effective action after

being idle for too long

expanding self 

into glorious multitudes 

a bomb 

shelter for one

that ensures my survival

should the world

come collapsing down 

around me

a microphone

at long last 

that no one 

can drown out

the actual sound of my voice. 

 

For Lira

Buttery coos;
hello birdie.

A voice

in your rosy

breast fine-scale

woos the new

day to peer

over the horizon

and stay

fixed upon

dueling syrinxes

in disbelief of

competing radiation

touching bare

sky first.

I don't believe in heaven,

only your

                                       g

                        n

         o

s

         o

                        n

                                       g