Mantra

once

she said she feared
the way

she looked at me,
she feared the way

she looked at me,
she said it rhythmically

in such a way
it went away.

(First published in Noon: Journal of the Short Poem, #3)

Sorrow Is

a lone flashing

oar down the river of no

return.



(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #14, Autumn 2008)

27, Rue d' asshole

I just received this from a dear friend who thought it might be of interest, so here goes: "After coming across Joseph Hutchison's down-to-earth, downright right-on-the-target post, I knew even wild flying horses couldn't keep me away from my mission: I just had to find out where those dang-blasted ornery critters Mumford called 'harassed specialisms' were holed up. Well, I spent a whole day hoofing it, trying to get a whiff of their trail, not seeing hide nor hair of them and thinking maybe they were just 'figures' of my imagination, you know, like the number zero or whatnot. Towards the end of the day, I was still desperately running figures over in my mind when I saw the figure '27' tacked over a half-opened door of a run-down hovel and a smart-alecky-looking burro looking like he was expecting me. I should have figured as much." (Name withheld by request)

Soothsayer

Soothe me,
Tell me

When the clocks have stopped
Talking, what will the heart say?

Rag Collectors

out gathering winter
scraps of sun-

light on the lone
sunlit corner.


(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #14)