Monthly Archives: December 2012


Christmas time–the house
a small boat; window eyes look out
sailors sleep in shifts

Full Black Veil

At the far end of the universe
Where space time curves back on itself,
There is a library.

In the library there is a woman
Sitting in a wheelchair,
Wearing a full black veil,

Listening to reports coming in
From the crab nebulae and all the far flung matter.

She makes notes and keeps them
In a knitting basket next to her chair
In case she needs them
Should all of time turn out to be a matter of interpretation.

Incident at Grave Creek

We launched our boat at Grave Creek
that hard-cinched August morning,

Side slipping in the green mottled river road,
through iron canyons gone black
with the sound of native church drum thunder.

Great billows of pyroclastic stone and smoke,
echoing the roaring waters,
channeling the jet engined sky road down.

Drifting the river of our fathers,
their long bone femur oars
bedded and crackling in their oar lock cradles,

shouting under a crumpled and quickening sky,
clutching our sun wet crammed high
dreaming a fair weathering voyage down.

Across the from all sides
foaming, frothing, arrested, seething,
over the upturned faces of fallen sky gods,
tearing at every nearest hull,
spinning sideways through
the hair of drowning angels.

Down the shadows,
down the resounding eyelids,
down the ecstatic inklings,
through the feathery hot
marmalade swarm of monarch butterflies
exploding quietly around us
in a quilt of painted light.

Great blooded sea salmon
bending our rods like soda straws.
Cabins of moss and black bears fishing.

Then high rising high and over and over,
so terrible and slow my boat turning over,
into the gory rocked sea salt heaving,
sucker fish lamprey baited river,
only grebes for ballast,
into my long handled misery,
rolling, rising, turning
and into the foaming bright lands below.

Deep drilling sunlight now squeezing,
I’ve come to put an axe blade into believing,
my every breath not taken a boot lace threading,
Lungs imploding in the hard cascading…

then finally,
finally a breathing
and above me monarch butterflies
stipple the sky above where no beauty lay
before I came to lie here beneath them,
floating, breathing,
floating, breathing,
floating, breathing.

Street Music

In our scant hour of freedom,
Noon time office workers wake up.

Wait, a siren song!
A half-remembered, mad melody.

A street corner cellist,
playing Frank Zappa!

Steel Head

Is this fruit or biscuit?
I was rugged,
I was drugged,
I was good blood.
I was a protein, a vein,
Like a lemony demon,
I was no stranger to strange fruit.
Like a finger dipped in ginger,
Like a bound wound,
Like a banquet,
Like a bouquet.


On a summer night in the Wallowas,
A massive porcupine waddles,
Brimming in his ease,
By the stream below my tent.

Unencumbered by sentiments of hurry,
Nose near to where his parents lie,
He pauses and looks at me.

Up armored and solitary,
Dim blueblack and fading he passes,
Unfull of my whirring measels of memory.

The star hungry night stops
it’s descent as he walks by.

The Mind’s Eye

warm breeze of my thoughts
green like the hills in cheat grass
rippling the river