Ghost is Me

I left immediately.
I didn’t dress.

I stepped out quietly,
A crayon like a violin,

An imposter of gravity.
The ghost

I left behind
I waited till now to name.

I painted lines in the street:

Love is
A bikini red sky in canvas

But the ghost,
The ghost is me

In the flip flops of the moon.

See to it your words are wingspan wrought.

And get us out of here.


The birds are
A bloody nose,

A bowl of
Crumpled paper
On fire,

Washed ashore
Having dreamed of whales.

A slight asteroid belt
For a fever
Will last a few days.

As the years go by
On some nights
You can see
A subtle scaffolding around the sun.

To catch a

You’ll need duct tape,
A tripwire, and
A mirror.

And like a dream, some of the words- I don’t know which ones.

The Intervention of Fiction

I was buying three paintings a day

I was sponsoring chalk drawings

Walking alongside poems on junkyard walls of

Old school corrugated steel “Do you know

The album Zen Arcade, by Husker Du?”

“Out of Step, by Minor


I went to thrift stores to city fields church sales

Just to find paintings I ate blue collar pizza

As the crows argued about me wanted to know

My business but I didn’t have any

Just the playing cards

Of light of deity of logic of endless

Of dark of sun bursts of binary stars of crows

In the carless trees

Be certain

To appertain

The havoc and the intention

The intervention of fiction

As Steve Zissou said,

“Nobody knows what’s going to happen. And then we film it. That’s the whole concept.”

Snippets of Gas Giants on Their Sleeves

At first, it was not silence. Silence compared to what?

It was a string of stones. Older than the sun.

The antics of moving water. H₂O is susceptible to gravity. Aren’t we all?

At first, the eyes of god were darkness. Darkness compared to what?

Walk with me. The insects have snippets of gas giants on their sleeves.

A feral afternoon lost in the hills. Or across from you in the city lot. Looking back at you.

A feeling bereft of soles. And feet like antlers of light. As the angels neigh.

Home Schooling


The philosophy of horizons,
Specifically, the chapters on distance,

Is the zoology of time.


The Minotaur
Are obstacles

In dreams. Like folded
Paper you have to unfolded.

Except that you are terrified.
And you haven’t learned

It’s pointless to retreat,
Even more so to be eaten.


You can accompany
All the volume of spacetime

Always, where ever you go

Because it has stripes
Like a tiger.


The shoes of the sea have stars up to their knees.