For Sale: Cheap

Inside the box

Trinkets and bobs once necessary

Now wholly unnecessary

Moved from place to unnecessary nook

Set aside to casual remembrance


All the sublunary sphere is nothing

If not of use

Trinkets to forget and objects

To be forgotten







Yesterday’s Host

Three years later I heard the song
Sent to you over thousands
Of miles
In hopes to cool your ringing ears
From the metrical pop, buzz,
And whistle.

A melodic reminder of God beside when
You only recalled the man offering
Chai yesterday
And the warm, spiced bread that
Filled your empty stomachs
On patrol.

You said the lyrics stuck in your head
While a finger sat poised on the
Holy carbine
As shadows came down from the hill
And you returned fire toward
Yesterday’s host.





Tossing the Flesh

I scraped you out of my heart
tossing the flesh
you built inside me
to the coyotes
who devoured your
good intentions
and deep meaningful
with satisfied yelps
sometimes I feel their teeth
in my chest
and long for where
that part of you

No. 19

Speak memory—

Of long-gone journeys
And their scent accord.
Let me breathe in the past
And inhale the fragrant moments
Remembered only by sweater
Scents and wet earth.

Remembrance escapes all
Except the perfumed days
When my senses were sharp
With top notes, the animalic desires
Of youth, wine, and roses.

The middle years wrapped
My hours baby soft and warm
With the striking incense of
Humanity’s beauty and the foul
Necessary of motherhood

The base notes of time
Given are the pungent
Aroma of decline and bouquets
I can’t recall. Like the decaying
Aoud, what is left behind is yours.

My only claim
The rich and time-worn
Redolence of a spent bottle.

No. 19

Handful of Cockle Shells

cockle shells

Scrolling sand and tracing circles,
We’re writing novels with one finger until
The ocean sweeps in and spirits away our
Thoughts to read later.

We say cheers and clink together
A handful of cockle shells,
Longing to open one and pull out a fortune.

I said luck is a ghost crab.

You shrug an “Oh well.”
“Never mind that, we’ll wait for high tide.”
Instead we wait for the surge
Near a diamond shoal.

Blessing the dusky blue clouds, you
Tell me they match my eyes.
In weakness I smile and whisper,
“You mean stormy.”

You said love is a jetty.

I want to let the sea wash over me, but you
Point to the shore and we laugh at candy-
Colored coquinas, wiggling into the sand like
Shy children under salt water blankets.

You ask me to dance in the hurricane,
I ask “Can I stand on your feet?”
We spin like the air
While you hold me safe in the eye.

The Fire


it happens

then suddenly

rising with
an up and out
spilling from
the brazier’s mouth
life is ablaze

but living coals
weary of future past
flatten to shadows
of smoky ash
swallowing its sorrow

Cope’s Gray

before the nights grow
thick with heat
and damp
tear out the song of frogs
from my ears
their colloquy dropping
that clang and shatter
the silence of
years passed without
and drown out the
memory of our
conversations rich with