RIMBAUD IN PARIS (version 2)

A thousand poems
burnt through
his

brains, while one
night pooled
wetly

at my feet

***
(after HOLY THE FIRM by Annie Dillard, Harper & Row, 1977)

++++++++
from NOTA BENE, a manuscript-in-progress

RIMBAUD IN PARIS

A thousand poems
burnt through
his

brains, while one
night pooled
wetly

at my feet.
O Poet--
Descend!




(after HOLY THE FIRM by Annie Dillard, Harper & Row, 1977)
++++++

--from NOTA BENE, a manuscript-in-progress

THREE COYOTES

peeing over the buttercups
yellowing the courtyard--

My dogs barking, forelegs
atop the windowsill--

And so the day fades
as I wrestle a long poem.

BLOG POETICS

I blog for you
roses

but I am no flower
child

I write you
e-letters

but I am not
(t)here

I just wish to share
something--

something that won't
wound

I have gathered all
thorns
into my cupped palms
for gentling psalms for
you

Hands fist into
silence

She bleeds without
pain

You see her blood
through roses

lushly-petalled
generous perfume