Thursday, December 27, 2007

...american health cares...

the clouds must part

today they must do

as you say with vehemence

this too I shall do

because we cannot take this

beating any longer

like the dripping water

torture or the time test

and sweaty fists clenched

with fear and anger

coffee and starvation

except for us

no one cares

even the ones

who are paid

so handsomely

to do so

Thursday, December 13, 2007

...singing in the snain...

singing along

to La Cucaracha

with new hope

I almost fishtale

off the bridge

thinking the snain

was just passing

through the grate

Friday, December 07, 2007 news kills the romantic in Seattle...

the new ones

were darker even though

you don't think so

dreary is what you called

them but they were rainy

this has to do with locale

the fact that you mentioned

turning on a tv

which I never thought

was an option for you

was your downfall

and the reason

for this aggressive stance

(welcome to our world)

all poems are political

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Monday, December 03, 2007

...conjugations of conjunctivitis...

not the flight

but the battle

not in the hardest stone

nothing like this

and the bloodshot

worsened with withered hours

and the pins and needles

worked the cornea

(the tributary image

reappears in the once-white

of the eyes, creeping

and creek-like)

until the drops were

administered and I saw again

what you saw

when we got back

home and lit up

the office desk lamps

and wrote about

how irony blesses

us with coincidence

and illness seeps

through the thin thin

walls like the wind

(more ironic that chronic)

Sunday, December 02, 2007

...thousands of feet overhead...

the white lawn speckled

with dead brown leaves

and branches veining,

creeping into shapes

similar to tributaries

and rivers

from thousands of feet


we sit warm toasted

by the radiant heat

and the pulse of a square light

that singes the hairs

on both of our arms

telling us that we must

move around more

or we will miss

the little features

we used to watch

of each other like

little television episodes.

It snowed to white

and I still do not know

what the small

of your back tastes

like today.

There's no punch like

or catch phrase here.

This is just the age

of the docudrama.