The Ghosts of Future Stars

Light steadies the ankles. Darkness readies the knees.

Darkness is a box of pins. Light the ghosts of future stars.

Light sounds out words, creates space. Darkness kneads.

Darkness is the immanence of distance and the ongoing retrieval of it.

Light stitches bones into the soul. Light is the darkness when you blink.

The wind is cheap poems through barbwire parasols.

But what are the footfalls of electromagnetic touchdowns?

The Laundromat Laureate

I write poems like a disguise.
I bicycle and I am genius at washing
The dishes.

My favorite science fiction movie

The spider
Out grows the house,

You find out in middle age you have an imaginary friend,

The city
Birds are one big computer.


So much of writing

Is conjuring something to do.

Standing aside

Exhaling into a paper bag.

Till it grows like a startled child

In the wind like a crack in the sidewalk.

It’s springtime between the stars.

Into the calligraphy

Of anti-skyscrapers

Called verse.


In the city field, headlong on the rails, a few spray painted
Stars on the passing train.

Each finger of the moon rattles like a windy day.


Opaque like a
Snap of the fingers

Arranged for guitar

The ghosts in your hair
Have misplaced their x-rays

Branded by
A bicycle moon
That began as an apple blossom.


Cello moon,
For broken piano.

If every raincoat was a time machine,

Apparitions of


An oboe jumping from a plane

Imitating an asteroid.


Explain this to me,
Why daisies have tusks
For a heart, and are ruthless
And yellow.

How the ground is green with loneliness,

Spilling over
With the joy of breathing its own song.

Explain the spring in footsteps,

How in the distance of your heart
You feel your heart
Take pause of the earth.

I hear the sidewalks rustle
In the still trees.

Living tigers for neckties. Under a penniless sky worth its weight in bold.

I’ve Know You for Hours, I’ve Never Heard You Say that Before

A Poem-

Like a road in a dream.

Almost no gas left, and the universe is old.

Above the seasick brick houses

The moon bends without making a sound.

Everywhere the universe begins.



Simple like a comb
Or some bricks in the bathtub.


Of Spring (now faraway)-

I miss

Your sense
Of gravity.



To personify subtle
Peel off the paint,

Find work that doesn’t pay,
Give your cash to beakers,

Light a torch,
Steal pollen from a bee.

Whatever you do
Don’t tell the truth.

There are no reasons,
But here are mine anyway.

If it should be the guts
Of October stars,
The not yet healed…


Just Saying-

A plasma giant 93 million miles from here

In some billions of years will engulf us

On its way to later phases of its life.


Last Lines-

Tonight’s sky is as subtle as changing a tire.

We are born of storms, not calm. And are as handsome as a thrown stone.

Conspiracies lack negative capability.

How to explain there is no end. And there never was a beginning.