Monthly Archives: August 2015

Stone and Diesel

I am a woven belt made of wood.
I am a haphazard circuit board.

I am a shirt made of fish hooks.
I am a train trestle made of lampshades and ax handles.

If you meet me by lamplight
keep your acquaintance brief and your own lamp low.

Worms are fish food only if find them.
There are bible verses in the soil too.

But I seek the metallic taste of the Other,
those dark truffles of stone and diesel.

The Bridge of St. John

A handful of dice are thrown on a table. Perhaps they spell Disaster!
Perhaps sparks from wildfires can provide punctuation.

Burning through preserved trees and stuffed horses,
the fire searches for what is real, for what has a rind and is meant to burn.

Stray bullets ricochet off of armadillos.
I am walking in a field of IUDs pulling the faces off of pigeons.

It is a fine day for a hanging! Thirteen protesters lower themselves
off of the St. Johns bridge like glabrous and forbidden fruit.

The day comes to rest in a spray of small birds at my backyard fountain.
Bathing, laughing; Nepali women at their washing.

The finance minister leans away from his computer.
The veins in his neck writhe like a sea serpent.