Blog Archive

The Young Turks

The young Turks
are old jerks.

Sleep Thief

 When you sleep
you keep
your secrets
each discrete.
Your breath
its depth
confounds unspoken
self.

I Will Not Be Rescued


Can you rescue me
from demented outbursts?
My fragile lexicon
is not getting better; it's getting
worse, so much worse.
I do not fully
understand the aesthetic
of the obsessed. I am not yet dead
and yet and yet, I am ready
for the transition: be it brutal, be it gentle.
I conjure a mop ( a map)
that will cleanse me, deface me,
rescue me, oh finally, ah, kindly
from the curse
of continuity.