day he took the bandage off.

not talk about it." The next

on the head?" And he said, "Let's

So I said, "How did you fall

he was mugged. He told me he fell.

his forehead. I didn't know

he came with all these things on

He was so happy. You know

wouldn't know him when he arrived.

She's blood, he said -- worried she

to his grandmother's condo.

morning he packed for the trip

rayed and stitched his head. The next

At the hospital, they x-

He was mugged in a bar.

Her neighbors were concerned.

She Was Alone in Florida

RASpiegel,
originally uploaded by Ten Penny Players.

into the universe.

and shot a string of stars

stared at his reflection,

turned the corner,

Khepri,

The unkempt god,

into memory.

impressed themselves

Libidinal energies

attracted and repelled.

Electromagnetic forces

cathexes swirled.

Undifferentiated

2008 Technology in the Arts - US Conference

2008 Technology in the Arts - US Conference,
originally uploaded by Center for Arts Management and Technology.

To please them he continued to hold, though his batteries were low.

Thanked him for calling. All representatives were currently busy.

The computer lost density. They appreciated his patience.

By four that afternoon, he was still on the Internet.

read e-mail, surfed websites, and played solitaire.

Read the news, solved the crossword puzzle,

The Workday Began

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream

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in time and fracturing the flow of thought.

Musicians jammed on the Internet, pausing

take me to your ache and shout me back.

then dropped delusions in the field.

Words in the air resonated a sublime notion

A terrified tongue tore at the hem of authority.

Sunday morning journalists spun the media

Waiting for the Ship from Delos

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and a black plastic garbage bag blew by.

Children danced.  Dreams slid across the sky,

The lawn mowers sang and church bells rang.

Sweetie, Sweetie looking up a tree she called, Sweetie.

The Syncopated Page

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of no consequence.

a moment

hung from the tap,

a bead of time

pinpoint me here:

the midst of words

If I'm lost in

May the art of my wrist untangle the tock

Esther's Book - Upload a Document to Scribd

so you might pull me out.

and reach the other side

swim the page with the strokes of a pen,

and fantasies. I dive through it,

is swollen with ideas, perceptions,

the dense space between nib and page

tracing circles in the air;

My pen hovers over the notebook

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the next day to the mayor's office.

balked on wearing it

the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, but

and wore the hat home over

the man in the bowler hat

I decided I was

on; and on the second try

with Barbara urging me to try it

going in one afternoon

and eyed it for weeks before

a hat store in Lower Manhattan

this derby in the window of

long stemmed flowers. I saw

Trafalga Square -- pierced by

in Charing Cross, Hyde Park, and

of psychedelic musicians singing

when bowlers sat upon the heads

or simply an echo from a hippy past

the proper rabbi or improper tramp

on during the dinner like

to the dinner party and kept

which I wore

About the hat

I slip forward with ideas, urges, and transient codas.

A storm approaches. My fingers cannot phrase my mind.

Is Richard Richard? Rains seep into the ground.

Rambling dreams fall out my head and pull me past the moment.

With my back pressed against the chair, I stare at the ceiling.

It’s Easy to Slip Past Incomplete Sentences

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...and silence sings in silken sighs.

Aurora lives in liquid skies . . .

then let her thunders lead us where...

For if nature can yet carve her canyons...

Let us slice this stagnant air.

Wait for me my wild companions!

never would I have lamented nor sought solace in my art.

Had I known not to have entered the gothic palace of my heart...

I write graffiti on your walls.

I pace your long and sullen halls.

As time left barren beauty's breast . . .

The many rooms I've washed with tears . . .

Kind casket calling me to rest...

Warm blanket woven with my fears . . .

...at last, the babe comes home.

But she drawing forth
from the depths of his eyes---
rods, cones, umbilical cords

But the hammer blows
her to her knees
and he's bad.

But the hammer blows
him to his knees
and he's sad.

But the hammer blows
inside her head --
and she's mad.

His waiting, working hours
spellbound by the frequent
hammer blows.

Scarred of scares she's had,
what does she drop in a sea of blood?

Rubies drop into the fortune teller's crystal lap.
Tarot cards fall one by one.

What does she see in a drop of blood?
Is she scared of scars ?

In the myriad lens
of the bee's eye
miniscule Messiahs
mend their tallises.

In slumber
the lumbering
Christ of Molecules...

His snores bore her.

She judges
the others--
incarcerating
races, tribes,
gangs, and
communes.

He cries. She crawls.
They stand apart
and make their marks --
the stains upon the walls.

Build on the backs of honey scented babes
pyramids, columns, arcs, & helices.

...to the lake where
the sensual come
in fluid lines.

Splintered lips hold back
the birth of the word:

Go...

all poetry was written before time

Emerald and topaz moss

covered two large roots,

spread like legs above the ground.