Still Life
originally appeared at Orion headless
Imagine Creon, standing slack-jaw, nerves askew
Also finding the rock rolled aside
But no emptiness permeated that cave.
But before he found grotesque Earth’s uvula,
Flung off son and saw heartsblood spew, spilling dust
He stayed, his bones basalt
Conspiring to make him, too, a desert fixture
Not king, not commander, but a monument,
A still life of impending futurity.
But blood flows and legs go
Under the too many winnowing blows
That’ll find him not cool, not composed;
A father.

The Sun Rose 
originally appeared in Indigo Rising Magazine

Then the sun rose
No sleep eye blinking
Or begrudging toss of covers
To keep the morning light at a distance,
Nor villagers lining up to prevent
By force of pots and pans
The sun’s inevitable approach.
After all, after one year, one month and
Seven days of waking to shadow on brick
(More for me, I moved in first
Then, after the wedding, I brought you home)
No dappled swaying light could chide
Our late morning, sleep stare slumbering.

originally appeared at Puffin Circus

Ineluctable. The word itself a net
Bringing in footprints on a snot green sea
Strand, before thought or recognition set in.
The same, stepping out in the brisk and
Dreary winds of fall, losing for a moment
All sense of place or time, only to find
Neither the gravel driveway nor chipped asphalt
Of dry, ill-lit six Manchester street,
But instead the pine street parking ramp’s paved
Sidewalk slapping dust beneath my feet.

Again, when the right combination of
Smoke, dirt, cologne and sweat converge
And fill my ears with the phantom sound
Of distant traffic and slurred Italian,
Excuse me if, for a moment, I seem removed.