The Summer Room – A Poem


The Summer Room

The summer room lines are drawn.
Darling opens the door
to bring me the sweets
of unkissed youth.

He was lost one day
walking home from school
and kicking stones
along the sidewalk.

Maybe it was I who was at fault
being bound corporeal and
The Isolated
by my own design.

But he is still alive somewhere
outside this room.
Somewhere outside
of me.

Broken innocence
smells of sweet grass and its taste
mixes with the blood
in my mouth.
I feel still that cool evening wind
being blown from a childhood desire
the open car window.
How it stirred suspense and danger.
And in the end how empty it was.

The summer room lines are drawn
and weighted
I surrender to them.

A mirrored field of vision hides my name
and as the years rest
over the hills and in between the sun
I realize I no longer miss it.

Atlantic – A Poem



Holiday in an Atlantic state
of mind.


A lost year

I cannot remember
those flushed moments
of tenderness.

Oceanic innocence
naked in the sand and silver wrapped.

Retribution quaked
Beechnut Drive.

Holly lived

with parents who smoked
too much
on the back porch.

Orange fluttered in the pit of her heart.

Random billowing waves of nausea
left me
bitter and resentful.

Crooked salty breeze twisting
slipped over the dunes.

A matchbook
dance in an Atlantic

Maple Love – A Poem

Daniel removes all subtlety from the proposition.
“You’re a God-fearing American
so I know I can trust you,” he says.

Zola is on the couch next to me.
The flavor of her ankle,
so close and teasingly exposed,
draws my imagination and shortens my breath.

“Don’t believe in dreams,” she tells me
in her rosemary marmalade voice.
“They are all lies, you know.”

But I don’t know.
All I have left are the shadows of an illusion that once
was real
to me.

“Where did you hear this?”


“Fuck Daniel. And fuck his American God.”

“Zola dear,” Daniel chuckles and snorts,
“restrain yourself. Our guest is flustered.
Here my friend a drink,” he tempts me
with his locust hands extending me a glass. “A drink.
Yes, we have big plans. For you, for us.
Zola please?”

But Zola ignoring his demands
stretches out her leg so
her toes
touch mine.
“Would you like to play with me?
We can be children again
and you can collapse on my cherry stone
my maple love.”

A sleepy ragtime chills the room.
I mistake it
for the onset of winter.

A Soul in the Rafters – A Poem

A Soul in the Rafters

Ground floor and the service attendant passes his time
out to the incoming guests
with a wink.
They are all contributors to an excellent society.
They donate to the foundation.
And the world will be made
more perfect
for them.
There is a global erosion in literary competence.
It is the main course
of discussion
for the dinner being held tonight.

Do you have any good reading materials, M?
I would prefer periodicals.
Oh, but that’s right. My soul is in the rafters, and the elevator
has long
been out of commission.
I wonder at the marvel of the movement of bodies.
Or a body. Or nobodies.
It is all dependent on my mood, really.
And the flavor of the drink.

Oh M, why do your lips tremble at the grotesque words?
Yes, we have a long and hazy day ahead of us.
Not bright.

Just hazy.


Relics – A Poem

New life yet what was found
but clinging remnants.
Relics of the old guard.

My pretty
periwinkle of a wife
is stationed at the cross

The air is charged
and static.

Mary brings me the news
with a smile on her lips
before the sun rise.
Turned inward
a mistake pulses
in me
and I confuse my own
artful collusion
for sanctuary.

A Justice asks me where
and I answer somewhere…
Past the canal where the water
no longer flows
to when I was born.
It’s there that the bones
still remain
to blossom.

The Dreamed – A Poem

Coin under a bridge.

Three beer bottle caps.

A girl with a butterfly dress

slumbers in a prison of light.

Nightly fold the summer grass

where the winds met.

The word of god’s world rests

in a fiberglass crown

as the dreamed mask

sovereigned plight

with sparkling pockets

and cast off curios.