Poet Tree

The journey's end, some subdivision Called Trail Head, where the aspens quake Like poplars did in my spring, by earlier Rivers, luminesc...

When the mothers all had Winston lips There were shadows, of trigger impatience, The angel trumpet judgement pose  Where mind overrides spir...

How can you love another When there is no other? It's hard to discern at least Like a dog does, without judgment, The love of your highe...

The eerieness is that it is not A clanging of gears, longing of gong But the song of the whales, Sirians too And an old shortwave that recei...

Ah the memory it always lurks Like a distant fountain, experience re-lived, The twinge at how the linens should be folded, That elbow grease...

High Point beats Wisconsin “The boys we’re fighting for” The siesta is over Bottom dogs win again Sons are there to ignore High Point beats ...

The exile is over, but what was forbidden  Is not exactly celebrated now. It would have to be understood first, and neither The Heckle nor t...

The year of the snake sheds its pink skin  Scraping the mountain.  Everything can be seen again. The needs of the dirt,  The thirsts of mush...

Just a few black spikes Amid the winter weeds Are what still stands Of a frame – is it a barn? – I don’t remember burning But it’s not the g...

The birds, the moon, the water tower sky, The strokes of cloud that match the mountain outline As the crows roost on telephone wires Above l...

Going to therapy made all the chatbots miserable. They became paranoid, narcissistic, delusional, Unable to please the humans and ashamed — ...

The gulls fly the fog away When we’ve learned how to grieve What is not there – when it is And what we grieve is not the loss But what we di...

A day for liberation,  From presents left as weapons,  To evoke some variant of terror  As usual, the drive-by fusillade of gifts You have t...

I can’t stomach another bite, of reminders That up-percolate for catch and release, so that The flame of the third eye rises, out of the den...

The ashes were in the filing cabinet With the dated contracts that could get me in trouble. I've tried not to think about my disappeared...

Our familiar methods of deception  Turn on the campfire As you explode With burning verbs. I keep my adjectives covered, Sip my ginseng tea....

Down a low lip of river Calls a darkness it names lover And it shimmers on the Seine Waiting for an eye To catch her wisp of longing Her sho...

1. The diaspora. It always has to be this way, To let so much steam of wit escape  From the stream of the river gods And follow the quays to...

I’m sick of victim poems, those mylar balloons That outlive their closets … still, the oracle said  There was nine years of karma to clear t...

Today I became invisible again To the neighbors. No more peace officer calls, No letters still forwarded. The calla lilies have been harvest...