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?
Highway 285, Mile Marker 132
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.
