Monday Potes – Dropped Pages

“Dropped Pages” is a series of poems that were, for whatever reason, left out of my books. I can never really finish tweaking them or being totally satisfied with the results. This one was left out of Her Red Book On the Night of the Flood of Ghosts For M.L. He says we’re those kind of friends some day one of us will be at the other’s funeral She pulls the death card scythe and burning vardo in Texas flooding takes their friend’s home away and homes in Russia and the streets of Prague as Nigerian women sit on the dock at Texaco and threaten to remove their clothing from around themselves everything breaks She taps the deck the further we get from heartache the more we can love the ghost of it recalling the decree of separation that left her a Toyota...

Dropped Pages: solar strings

This was a poem dropped from Her Red Book. I still might include it in another book. solar strings dust is beautiful it floats in the stratosphere above the cumulonimbus and diffuses the waves making the sky blue azuring the eyes of the nomadic poet who learns the names of constellations like pop songs singing them in her head without sound with only light electromagnetic rays that bounce around the nape of her heart because in the middle world there is a such thing as sunshine Jump on The Monday Night Poetry Train The words “middle world” did not appear in the original poem. I borrowed them after hearing this wonderful post on TED. If you have 20 minutes to spare, this will curl your brain: Richard Dawkins Speaks on our Queer...

dropped pages: girl moves to woods

I’ve been very absent around here. Life got away from me for a while. Just finished my gig on the Nickelodeon film and our house renovations are down to the details. No more drywall! Woop-woop! The following poem isn’t really a dropped page as I don’t think I’d even considered it for any of my books. In any case, here it is, written 10 years ago while living in Seattle. It still doesn’t quite work, but I like the sentiment. girl leaves suburbs, moves to woods, builds log cabin words connect her to earth plant her among cousins just running around she prefers life lived out terraced jungles that grow physical something strong that breaks from classic nuclear TV dinner says joyful is someplace arrived twleve years toiled with the...

Dropped Pages: On the Night She Signed up for French Lessons

This is an odd little poem that was dropped from Her Red Book. (I’m not sure how the title relates… I think I literally signed up for French Lessons that evening.) ~ ~ ~ On the Night She Signed up for French Lessons The heat getting to her she was hallucinating one postcard from Gualala and she’s got the Pulitzer Prize Never mind the extra weight since she’s turned to chocolate cigarettes from Holland putting back everything she’s ever stolen a glance a minute or two in the executive chair with her eyes closed Funny thing was every time she stepped out of the kitchen she was startled by a man sitting at the diningroom table turns out it was only her raincoat and a potted cactus She sees familiar names in NY magazines and thinks I’ve got to get...

found poem found

This is for Paul, because he cared enough to ask if I was still around.  We’ve been renovating our house since the end of December. We have to have it finished by the end of this month because a bunch of people are staying in our house… so that’s part of the reason I’ve been away. I’m also working as an on-set tutor for a Nickelodeon film, which means an 11 hour day once I get home. It’s a really great gig, fun cast, upbeat crew. How refreshing. Paul, I was looking thru some old files and found this poem for you. They’re found lines, but I can’t recall where I found them. Concrete Designs on Things Less Tangible spring cleaning for ghosts of past lovers my sword of Damocles we are all fragile vases containing the...

Dropped Pages: On the Night of the Flood of Ghosts

Dropped Pages is a series of poems that were originally dropped from my books and chapbooks. I have reclaimed them here. Dropped from Her Red Book On the Night of the Flood of Ghosts He says we’re those kind of friends some day one of us will be at the other’s funeral she pulls the death card    scythe and burning vardo in Texas flooding takes their friend’s home away and homes in Russia and the streets of Prague as Nigerian women sit on the dock at Texaco     and threaten to remove their clothing she says     the further we get from the heartache the more we can love the ghost of it recalling the decree of separation that left her the Toyota Corolla darkroom equipment piano and one cat named Quincy They revisit old loves who now have new loves...