Duck, Duck, Goose

I wrote this poem entirely on trains. … More Duck, Duck, Goose

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Fear of Missing Out

Night on the porch. Real darkness. The rain tries out some rhythms then shakes its head: “Take five!” The frogs advertise in the fields for all they’re worth. I’m not doing much. Vacation. There’s a blanket, a chair, the vague dark breath of the sea. I want to be composing, too: what’s my worth? Crack … More Fear of Missing Out

On Bodies

Some days, some months — let’s be honest, probably some years — my pants don’t fit. This is supposed to matter to me, and it does. In the drowsing noon, I was sitting outside and I asked the douglas fir next door about this. As usual, ki said nothing. Well, I thought, you get rounder each year! … More On Bodies

Before Ordering a Second Margarita

Walk out between the hydrozoans blooming on the beach. Or anyway, they’ve bloomed: clear jelly fingerprints, lavished on the sands: Cnideria was here. A few strewn blue-lipped bodies, still plump with sea-shout, sunlight shriveling. On what occasion did cold Pacific order such bouquets? Wrack line implacably delivers. Bare of foot to climb the rocks and ford the … More Before Ordering a Second Margarita