To me Yanks have two kinds of voice Sounding either Yeehaw pistol or wistful Broken by TB-severed family ties One of lights, noise, luridness, blur, opportunity Another of low cairn graves on ghostly prairies Crosses unscathed by date or name Hacked hatefully at or bit bad by a snake hidden in one’s pack Fleeing hunger,… Read more: Brogue
We scrimped together Enough for a scabby measure A blunt’s makings if you never say never Shaking out a scraped-vacant grinder’s faintest flakes Anything to escape feeling constantly chased. Constable haunted Dreams of wall vaulting, clearing lanes I adopt the Skating Minister’s posture Whip a cost-ya eighth out the pocket Have you plugged in, powerful… Read more: Threeskin reprieve
At rest My bones Innermost piping. At best My poems Middlemost climb Bedpost high only One eye alone descries Their broke fiddler tone. A finger stoneless What lingers of that no’d proposal. Somewhere voice-bare no one else goes there Fiery quiet, fair and admirably foliate Light roseate. Enfolding irises eye holding Yellow as Carcosa’s minaret’s… Read more: Starcarrier’s sad fragment
In a craven cave that caiman Romans will soon know I am removing a rose’s disapproval from a lion’s toe. An ailing lion whose able feet are thorn-reaved My hands pull it clean I heal every weeping beast and bleeding heel I see If I cannot be a writer which spiteful time might keep I… Read more: Thornpull thornful (A lion’s approval)
Less eager to set at ease Those who by sunup Would be deceased My life the run up Without release That runway stretches on and on Like what Ozymandias sees. At runaway slave speeds Knowing nothing would impede I tested every promised steed Rising gears. If engines could rear. With fingers splayed to an experimental… Read more: (no title)
Alchemisland 
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