On a light pole a redtailwatches for fresh meat,not in the nearby fieldbut on the city pavement,dismisses rank roadkill–a racoon on the center line–leaves that to crows and magpie,black-tie dinner guests squabblingover the buffet before them.I bid the hawk good morningand brake to let the carrion crewescape my deadly approach.And I too feast on the…

Left far from the window,withered in shallow soil, I toothirst, blink, and squint.I long for song and touch,for something new ringinglike a solo sung inside my head.My own hand has landed mefar from sun and sea. I amarmed and legged, eared and eyed,reading toward dawn.At sunrise I breathe deepand move closer to the light.I want…

If lines on paper werecontinuous, wherewould they lead,a narrow strip that escapesthe desk and crawlsacross the floor, a scrolldemanding a scriptorium?Praise then marginsthat shape the day,the geometry that guides usand prevents a long hard pathpaved with stony prose.

Killing becomes contagious.Let’s melt down all the gunsinto patio furniture.

At work with words in a lying world,my tongue has a full-time job.I drop words that shatter at my touch,so many that want my full attention.They wear outfits that don’t fit, each onea prima donna demanding attention.Any word dancing in my headhides if left too long alone,every noun demanding its own verbwhen my tongue sticks…