Wednesday, January 18, 2017


There was a hole in the ice
the width of your iris
A hole in the cloud the exact size
of your hatband
The clock fell into a hole in the wall
we could hear it ticking through the plaster
A thousand pencils of light
came shining through the holes in the roof
to write your name across my face
and melt the mask, and drill a new hole
through which floated a single
ring of smoke

Monday, January 2, 2017


A paper cup half full of coffee
standing in the middle of the sidewalk

a mattress plastered with brown leaves
leaning against the yellow brick wall
of the neighborhood power station

and against the granite sky,
darting from stick to stick