Posted in Uncategorized, tagged haiku, poem, short poem, travel on May 2, 2013| 2 Comments »
walking in the room
the dog sniffs the air
where the poem was
*
plastic bubble pipe—
what does this have to do
with infinity?
*
green exit sign—
wishing I could hang it
above my fear
*
empty dish—
the cat never worries
about her figure
*
no atmosphere, no
water, no life, Mars at least
you’re still a planet
*
in large white letters
the highway sign says MARVEL—
I pass going sixty
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged falling apart, mask, poem, poetry, uncertainty on May 1, 2013| 2 Comments »
A tiny screw,
a tiny screw
beneath the butts
and cheat grass stems
and fallen in
between the rocks,
a tiny screw,
a tiny screw,
you almost missed it,
didn’t you, and what
did it hold together?
The sharp end broken,
useless now. Was
it mine? How
many lives does it
take to unscrew the
light? We are all
falling apart. In our wake,
we leave hundreds,
thousands of invisible
screws—in our lawns,
in our beds, between
our car seats, in thin
alleys, on stages,
beneath the fridge.
We are all trying
to pretend we can hold it
together. Next time, maybe
you’ll notice them,
not the millions of screws
we’re constantly stepping over, but
these holes that get harder
to hide from ourselves,
from each other.