one way
is to develop
a skill
that is valuable
to other people.
Category Archives: Poetry
self-improvement as a version of idolatry
there is no path
to god.
when you try to do something, you lose it
stains at the underarms.
the body sweats.
despite the years, there’s no reason to take it personally, when they do not know your name
expose the midriff.
toss the stick into the stream.
face is aflame though sun is well hidden behind cloud
the house is not
empty, it is
vacant.
slide the scales until pleased with saturation
spend the day
making labels.
the last mile, faster than the first
the water is muddy
on account of
yesterday’s rain.
i wasn’t asleep, i was just thinking
you’re not sure
if you have it
in you but
you try
anyway.
simple does not always equal easy
at first
you try to pick it up
but you cannot.
a luscious field for a contented cow
don’t think
about your hurting
back.
mist of magnesium
small victories.
you don’t know
what to say so
you kiss her.
your face is
aflame.
i always love to see you
last night
the boat decks were full
of late evening sun,
liquid
like the water
the boats float upon.
i might go do stuff
high-vis vest
while driving
the car.
a lady in an alley stabbed a man in the hand with the small knife from a nailclipper
the horse did not want
to listen to me.
an invasive species and its virility
massive slabs
of smooth concrete
make up the building.
no ground to possess, no territory to cede
it’s a surprise.
typically
when you return
to whatever
home you are
home-ing,
typically
it doesn’t smell good.
red salmon blue cloud
i don’t know
the names
of the berries.
watching human high school kids running cross country races in the past, now they are older and sometimes faster, sometimes slower
big boats move
quickly into
the harbor.
non-attachment while tied to a dock
the beginning
is blank.
squeezed between earth and sky
the pressure
comes from wanting
to explain it,
not being
able to.
the sound of dripping water has me looking for a leak
it is common
to feel a fear
over not getting it
right.
jazz drummers, sunflower; seed, oil, flour, topical magnesium
there isn’t really
so much
a thing as
doing.
i greeted an old friend and we joked and spoke casually about fish and aging animals
we take
the young bodies
and fling them against
walls, rocks.
a woman smoking a cigarette by the garbage cans at the back of the building stares at you as you go by
a small vessel
made of metal
not quite half full
of wild blueberries.
nice, ordinary, unregenerate
the plans were
thin and reedy
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