Saturday, October 13, 2018

YOU WILL SEE 


You will see
I don't

use the word
"plastic"

in my poems.
That's because

poetry
and plastic

so seldom
overlap.



Friday, October 12, 2018

LOOK 


Look
at what
I talk

about,
and what
I don't.

This will
help you
define

our art,
what it
is, isn't.

See?
It's not
so hard.



Thursday, October 11, 2018

IT COULD BE 


the furnace kicking on
or the train coming through town
or a jetliner overhead.

All the things it could be,
it is. You take apart
this world at your peril.

The house is warm.
The freight gets moved.
Passengers arrive.

What we think we know
comes back to haunt us.



Wednesday, October 10, 2018

WHY AIR? 


Why air?
Because breath

requires it.
Why white space?

Because the answer
lies between.



Highway 285, Mile Marker 132 


from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016

Highway 285, Mile Marker 132

The difference is distance.



Tuesday, October 09, 2018

AT DENVER AIRPORT 9-12-18 


The angel she is
doesn't know she is.

Her eyes say, "I know, right?"
referring to the dogs

on the woman's lap
who's in the wheelchair

she's pushing. "I know,
right?" my eyes agree,

and she pushes on,
the angel she is.



Highway 20, Mile Marker 28 


from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016

Highway 20, Mile Marker 28

Snow
on the mountains,

How the storm
works them.


Monday, October 08, 2018

GIRL CAUGHT IN MID-MOTION 


The push of her
against herself.

The tenderness.
Her angular

loveliness.
All the things

that she will be --
suddenly.



Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 362 


from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016

Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 362

The short grass bleached
in this sun and somewhere

hope for an old poet.



Sunday, October 07, 2018

Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 366 


from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016

Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 366

Sky
at the end

of the
universe.

I have
been there.



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