Monday, January 25, 2016

Six Ghost Horses

Saturday, January 23, 2016

21 Postcards

Friday, January 22, 2016

Three Postcards

Sunday, January 17, 2016

12 Postcards


Tell me you miss me in your best voice
when all the math you do in your head
makes your lips move. We can hibernate
in January with other mammals.
You are starting the mission
with a sense of blunt control.
I'll layer one mistake over another
mistake and see what happens.
I'll keep you dry in winter
so you can see, oh can you?

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Plastic Pop

I shimmy up 10th Avenue
like I have a purpose.
A yellow jeep
zips northward
indicating a certain urgency.
I just had a slippery glimpse
of a lime green backpack
on a human frame.
The light is milky
and blank.
A blue dump truck
matches the top
of that fire hydrant.
I feel cruddy
about your bullshit.
Tonight I will sleep
the way some people
do stuff.

Friday, January 08, 2016

Miami Writing Desk Window (Riviera South Beach)

Wednesday, January 06, 2016

Poem from Miami

When it rains in Miami
the air smells metallic and sweet
like a frightened snake. My clothes
are heavy and dank from the humidity.
All the trees we
don't have in New York
are here in Miami.
While I waited for coffee
at the Ocean Deli on 20th St
a man coughed
on my neck twice.
I felt the pressure
of the air vacating his lungs
on my hair. I turned around
and said "Please do not
cough on my neck," to which
he replied, "I only did it once."
Meanwhile, palm trees swirl
from the wind of a minor
tropical depression. It is
8:05 AM, 73 degrees, Wednesday,
January 6th, 2016.

Tuesday, January 05, 2016

Go to the river of joy, maybe