Executive Orders
Who, in a back room, prepares the folders? The ones that look like menus from ’80s family restaurants. In the […]
Poems
Convenience Stores
We both know the smell of a convenience store at 4 a.m. like the backs
of alotta hands.
She sells me trucker crack/Mini-Thins (it’s like Vivarin).
She doesn’t make me feel awkward about it.
She can tell it’s been a long drive and it’s only gonna get longer.
Offers me a free cup of coffee, but I never touch the stuff.
Besides, I’m gonna need more speed than that.
Horizon Note
Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. —W.B. Yeats
Not Even
Not even Hildegard knew that the manuscripts she wrote were written hand to skin or the hard number of sheep
[wondering what] and Other Haiku
wondering what the flying flock … overhead crows
My Ordinary Love
I want you to know
what a simple thing it is,
what a plain, what a humdrum.
I want you to know
what a grey thing it is,
what a gritty, what a numb.