Poetry Collection I

Stuffed with Blue

Thumbs the - Sun

Pollen - grits it Raw

Nails on Head -

And jars still Closing

Counting Away -

The Sun




































Dead in - summer Hurts the Sun –

all this Streaming - deaf on Grass –

Hedges - of distraught - Attention –

and - these People walking – Home









































If distance is a trick – of what you expect it to be

And Proximity has no texture
Other than what – you've felt – Before

And all you have at death – are the stories
You've always told yourself – to fall asleep

And money is worth only – what you give
– to protect it – as it determines – the scales

And I have changed and you have changed

I'll take my little chances – with no great cause

And leave you –
The pressure of such – little words































The potions in my brain are
swollen, as our attention keeps us
humble, the quiet day begins without
promise, and ends with the future
adorned in the bells and sun dresses
of this prison –
we laugh, cautious





































you’ll pay tomorrow / my friend



\It was a
nervous jerk –
and so:
unfulfilling,
I’m still all nerves.
finger-tips and
heart valves.
The rocking of
sufficient breathing.
And I flit with the
desk lamp to melt
away those lines of light
across the ceiling.
This is it: convergence
of bloods, dissonance,
should there exist
such a word –

where is all of this
space when I’m
on trains? or
choosing breakfast
cereal?

All of those pens,
clips, jagged gleams
of metal on the desk –
Oh would they fit nicely
right back
behind my eyes!








from just moments after, when you have your breath back, if only to write a little something here or there



and – in these moments
of grinding – affectation
your head and your heart
an – awkward system

later there will – be time
to read this to pieces
what you could have waged –
into those little blue eyes

The moment is – escaping
the present: giving it the slip
and pegging reaction – on
dark foreign momentum

is the trick – against your
bones is the – thick against
where – your heart – should be
no, you’re wrong: there is time –

she said