Poetry

I was staying in the Castro district,
I came to sit by the bed of my dying brother, oh boy,
it was Halloween when I arrived,
Six-foot men with beautiful legs in tutus and heels,
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If someone said “Your marriage is like Apollo 13.
You need to gather the duct tape, the plastic bags,
all the tools to make a carbon scrubbing machine
to clean the oxygen of your love so you can survive. more

We have not yet met the outposts of love
We’re in those between days
sorta kinda sixty old
but not cataract crippled mind blank ninety old. more

I keep attempting a makeoverI secretly feel too far-gone for those,
my hair isn’t interested,
then there’s all that flab... more

How simple and sweet
the dreams of the fruit fly
beguiled awake by
a corpsey blackened banana... more

I am dowsing every day for the
water of Your love, feeling
tugs on the branches
of my body, nudges
when I wander into
desert or brackish water. more

Look at that open field, the thigh high cacophony of
yarrow and milkweed, Queen Anne’s Lace and clover,
Black-eyed Susans and St John’s Wort, spiny
elbows by elbows, filmy colored wings by wings,
pokey proddy pointy antennas by antennas. more

I dreamed I was a bee
and entered a cathedral of flowers more

Cold, darker nights,
Thanksgiving and Oh Christmas tree,
this is the end of the calendar year
when we X out the final days
and make resolutions. more

How long does it take a mouse
to learn the ways of its people, when
the nose is small and pink and the ears
are cupped soft and gray to the sky? more