The bottom


We have complained of various things

Difficult to conceptualize

In fact, there is no bottom to anything

That is what the mind cannot accept

Not relativity or infinity

Not birth or death

But the fantasy that a drawer

Holds forks despite gravity

There is no bottom to anything

A vase, a finer illusion than a soul

And your bowl will never empty

Just the same as it began

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Low Disk Space


“In the near future

Petrogenic tubes will allow us

To map each other’s hearts

And not in the sense of

Pulse, pressure, or saturation;

We will be able to translate “I forgot”

Into everything that was unsaid

And tease the edges of communion

Wrapping into ourselves.”

“You should have just returned my calls.

It’s a basic signalling game –

But this may be my favourite

Of all your fragile lies.”

Origins


“No, I don’t believe in our having been chimpanzees, or cavemen, or peasants without indoor plumbing, or the like. Don’t go calling me a creationist, though – I can see it in your face. I think the creationists have it wrong, too.

“I’ll allow for the possibility of dinosaurs and the planet being however many eons old. But I’m not going to be suckered in by the theory that our ancestors ran around for millennia without cotton underwear, Advil, or knowing to boil their water.

“You’ll see why, if you think about it. So many untreatable itches and infections would have gotten us. No black pants or clean pads – if the predators didn’t get you, the vaginosis would have. No oatmeal baths or baby-grade laundry detergent. No cranberry juice, probiotics, antibiotics, acid capsules, or surgeons to pick out stray bits of uterus.

“No. We all had to be born somehow, and there’s just no way that vaginas could have survived in the wild.”

Municipal elections


“It is looking bluer today.”

“Yes – I think they hope this will

send property values further south

and highlight the old mill

as an eyesore.”

“I see –

I always liked the mill myself

but sandstone does seem garish

when, on this street, everything else

smells like blueberry.”

“As someone allergic to scents

I wish they didn’t flavour the paint.”

“Nothing to be done there.”

“No; and to be frank

it’s pleasant to watch the crews

hard at work.

This devaluation project

could always be worse

than a bit of vandalism, and paint.”

Mostly Rhyming


Boudoir-01.png

I’m really excited to say that I have completed my first illustrated anthology, “Mostly Rhyming”. This is a collection of my poems interspersed with black and white digital sketches like the bunny in the boudoir above 🙂

The e-book is on Amazon in Kindle format –  and the Kindle app is free!

The Young Pleasure Seeker (Josephine)


I never loved you, Josephine

Like the larks that flew entwined

Like the water filling the fountain

Or the lord after the hind

I never plucked your handkerchief

Fallen among the rosebeds

Nor begged a walk, a poem, a dance

But asked Thérèse instead

O how I doted on her charms

And waited hours to hear her sing

How I spread the boat with quilts

As inducement to come sailing

But Thérèse, in all her gaiety,

For others plays me false

And I begin to doubt her beauty

When at my vows she balks

I never loved you, Josephine

And this you may be slow to forget

But though I never loved you

I may come to love you yet

Hotel Last Century


The oddest numbers

leave a pitfall’s exit space

a glass-rimmed hall of gondolas

where you float the other way

Gunshots skitter tiles

but I memorize your face

and from this stir of madness, darling

with you, I will escape