Swimming to Campeche

I know the air
well enough to bathe with it
feed the fires with it
live with it in me, we in it
delighting airfoils, it rushes
suddenly from pressurized places
into unobstructed sunshine, I’m

swimming to Campeche in
adopted waters of the new rivers*
flowing, oxidizing the ferric mischief with
its snail-flame, interest earning rust
scuttled man-touch, the landfill drifts
on the pant-legs of the gulf
the biosphere perspires, and we

build our cities within the folds
of its soiled laundry, the daytime
programming of geology’s TV
all the while, without
really meaning to

* Geologically speaking, all rivers are young. See: John McPhee, Rising from the Plains.


A Slice of Longevity

pyre of the moment
denies all these lingering traces
and the fireproof memories
are breaking and entering
we weep for the dead
and gone, weep for ourselves

the death certificate
rendered into thin strips, gathered
ignited, burned, lanky curled effigies
prostrate their ashen bodies
in offering, an act complete in itself
without forethought, intent
or memory, like a barfly
tossing back a shot of whiskey
at the funeral pyre of this particular
slice of longevity


The providence of light
honors the appetite of all things seen
knows the curvature of space
from the choreography of the red-shifted, to
the bent lamplight of the inner lanes.

In the headlights, opened eyes
a latent disorder is caught deer-sighted
and joining, we work the tantra of an
off-world insight, seeing in the rearview
landmarks, clutch-holds, and signifiers.

Hello, host of house-haunting neuroses
I so want to be gentle with you
the troublemakers who cast shadow puppets
onto appetites that are themselves shadows
in light that I myself provide.

Self Adhesive

I look to make minor improvements
In the way I remember my life
And select very carefully the things
I bother to remember at all

Always endeavoring to be the best
Person I can remember being

Patching up the gaffes and goofs
As they appear (if they even dare to)
And doing a damn fine job of it too
If memory serves

Damn Smart Hamster

Dizzy on the roundabout
We busy bodies raise a cheer
Tomorrow always comes, but never
Comes precisely in the way
We thought it would, now let us pray

When the next thing beckons
Say you wait a tick, hold on
The thing that came before has yet
Been done, or even well begun
So up again and at it, son

This time it won’t be at all
Like all the other times
You’ll see, the glory’s mine
Before I die I’ll make my mark
Get on it soon, the falling dark

Too much on your hands this
Stuff, this passing thing
This time, this beating wing
Not enough at hand, but wait
More coming, knocking at the gate

Footfall one upon the other
Look about, what do you see
No minister of fate, a
Damn smart hamster on a wheel
Keep it spinning, that’s the deal

Damn Smart Hamster first appeared in this blog on September 4th, 2016.


wobbling equators
stippled with queenly bees
in the leaf green light
pathogens and spermatozoa

fractal rabbits, weeds
to seeds: all that’s made is
in the making, thumbed index
to the book of life

every fold, every crevasse
swollen with ripeness
even the crossing signals
seem to urge us lovingly

Day and Night

swallow the sky
your sphere is a throat
taking away hunger

fly away into the sky
with the many swollen
empty stomachs

being in the sky
counting on your rosary
the blues liberated from color

deity in the night
empty the clinging motes
of their daytime visions