Poetry
The Waning Moon
Day 1. / / This morning three magpies float silently from the spruce trees by the graveyard. / Voiceless, they are ghosts of their summer selves drifting across the faded sky. /...
Innocence
The gnarled tree is a presence / Standing back from the tiled walkway / Between the sun-baked paving stones and the pool / / A loonie a bucket from a madcap...
Art Sometimes Makes Me Vague / L’art parfois me confond
Art Sometimes Makes Me Vague / / Some day we’ll live in the sky, Birdine. The big idea. / With wings. For now, and now is a...
Answers to Wittgenstein’s Seven Propositions
What is the case? / Small infractions. Bent brier, turned leaf: / integers opening the whole / a trail through the bushes. / / What are the atomic facts? / The...
Less
It’s a morning of razor-cut tissue wrap over the ridges. It’s breakfast by touch, molar-pinching coffee. It’s hot water enough to shave one leg. It’s drizzle,the bullock-brow dawn, stray razor bristles and...
Frigidarium
Navy blue in the hall. / Five and five doors / and blue navy rising, / rising under the underslots. / Five and five doors to ten rooms, / each with a...
South
Grand Forks, Fargo, any North Dakota town with a Super8 / and a Target. To be out of your mind was really to be / out of your body. Feeling it the...
Field Test
Twenty years measuring / strangers’ eyes, entire fields / of vision. Despair and happiness / / look the same in the iris: / synaptic blue roots, wired / cross-attachments. / ...
Poem 39 – A tongue listens to a war
Driven out of Lebanon warm air opens the lines / Slow moving vowels grip glottal, we pucker / Hiss of splayed gullets marks the gaps / Their right legs slightly forward and...