this is what the words are wings just waiting for me outside the glass knives to petal garland past where butterflies and beaks clutch pearls and lace the wind stipple slow downs begin enough to rest and turn the e…
the ghost of a rosein the neighborhoodof treesspread dreamt full fingeredI outstretch fora blind morelike a loose garmentslung or hungto whatever corner of skin and boneI canquietlyquite quicklystick tosilencehand-waitsfor every clasp-returnof a l…
thoughts, posting a poem a day better to lens the daytime at night bright light fright plight is the world whirling whorls here come the curl wavesthe reeds all rifled with eggshidden in one basket divide the sea tide rides the water from where the ani…
Pan said to waitbefore She camestart writing nearthat big tree hung with bark blossom careenfanning hangs of genitaliaeach branch a little treea diorama that sees infinity in small scale growth factorssky reaching blue&nbs…
as I would look out at the nightride her Moonarmrest callto Junean overstuffedvelvet covered chairdare me past each bare threshold open my heart a window againlet spill curtain symphonieswear alleyways on skinned pleasinggetting through things li…
chained to mountain viewsor the poems that spill sidewaysand the poems that fill ridden daysthese are the words that a soul’s geometryconnects the dots withhandfuls of carvebleeding a sieveof blossomed tomorrowswith the swill thirst of morethe crawl bu…
America has no soul, only symbolsit’s the people here,that got the goodssitting at the kitchen tablenot able to eat anythingexcept what I writeand it doesn’t really matterwhat I write as long asthe rivers of words are fullof blood and underpinningsmost…
the prostitute and the mania of a waning MoonI start writing the words black notebook and pen likebutter on biscuits steaming from the oven quick slidthe ease of melt where a mouth fitslike it does a kiss just remember this is whywe close our eyesto se…
closing the epilogue ticket window and every question lingerslike a seed waiting for answers in cycles of the rainingpaint from ceilingsdisguised as skiesI only know to come herewhen I am thirstywith just my soul in towbagging life with what my h…
what the rain couldn’t hear was time is a mistress of moreGoddessriddling the windwith her tongues on our clockscarvingour dark beginsour peel scraped endsour molecules thinned enough to birth light ineach element of usin all the spacethat elect…
staining the exitsthe house is all ghosts and no bonesas if pall-bearing death itselfwill watch the wind all day take my breath intothe quiet that tapping keysgives birth tomy every unknownmy every outcome my every lovemy every stonethrown in wishesat …
feeding the dark hemssack-cloth rivers watch timestacking each carvedclearly identifiable featurethe Sun can sell of youto pair gravity withrise the probabilities by the day and flood the outcomesin the languagesof dreams at nighttell de…
The Hudson Valley Writers Guild supports the efforts of writers in all genres by sponsoring readings, workshops, and contests and providing a number of valuable resources for the entire literary community.
