Lashed to the mast, bound pose striking his face,
Beaten with tears and cold siren sophistry,
Cat clawed and battered, a molding embrace,
The grace of this sea-green, darkening mystery

Danse avec la Lune

(June 2002)

Frivolous moon
as cold and distant as you seem
with great surprise we caught
   your fingers
for a dance more
   delicate than your brother’s

My Recurring Existential Crises

(Jan 2005)

When an afternoon passes in pulses
Like blood through veins in lycra-clad thighs
Of bicyclists straining uphill;

When the sun seems to be shining
In one of the neglected minor keys;

When thinking about backflow prevention devices
Acquires an unexpected significance
Like establishing how street names would fit
Into a quintessentially suburban metaphysics;

In the middle of those days when there’s nothing to do
But walk down to the Laundromat trailing cigarette exhaust
And watch the dryers revolve like galaxies;

Well, it’s times like these when the phrase

“My recurring existential crises”
Sounds especially pretentious.

Herbs de Provence

(Nov 2013)

A mustachioed man, all points irony,
draws a bird in his Moleskine.
His bird is dreaming of Languedoc.
In the kitchen a stew is bubbling,
fragrant with lavender
and France a world away.