Poems

You say that moonlight falls upon the land
To permeate the planet from above;
That down it pours, as from an artist’s hand,
And gilds the night in silver show of love.
But I know better. Luna is insane--
As mad as she is barren, yet still more;
With crazed desire she draws pearlescent rain
From flooded soil and conjures to her orb
A stream of late-spilt sunlight from the ground.
The saturated Earth can’t help release
This luminous excess, and with no sound
It floods, a glowing tide, to find its peace
Above. A barren sister to the Earth,
Cold Luna steals our light to swell her girth.

I've misplaced the fingernail clippers again.
I only use them over the bathroom sink.
I only keep them in the drawer.
There's no one here to borrow them.
No one to leave them in the living room,
Or the kitchen, or to pocket them
And never return them.

The annoying qualities of housemates
Remain behind like ghosts.
If only their lovely qualities remained as well.

Stridently grim in gray
Her step by step sensibility
Of low heeled efficiency
In expectations of perfection
In likely accomplishments
In timely limitations
In this diffident life
Of dreamless sleep

Route 50 bisects Nevada like a cinch belt
or a coroner's cut
300 miles of sun-baked asphalt
most of it arrow straight
so monotonous, bends in the road are interesting
you really feel their pull
you look back where you came from
to see how the view's changed
stare at the new view opening ahead

how many painted center stripes
how many Botts' Dots
doubtless someone's counted—
out there somewhere between Austin
and Fallon there was a stillness once
like the primordial stillness
before the Big Bang
then someone had to go put a road through it
but a wisp of it still clings in places

Village Green music
Still foggy over the bay
Soon the harvest ends