Because I love you, tiny boy,
breastmilk on your breath,
dark down covering your head,
the head I can still cup in one hand
as I lay you gently in this cradle,
gently so as not to wake you–
Because I love you, I open
the iron scissors, place their strong
blades, sharp as eagle’s talons, wicked
as wolves’ claws, here above
your eggshell skull to keep away...
|
Our country is drenched in oil
and your body is
Flint–
has rubbed together
all the dry books you read.
You learned nothing
about how polluted
friendly people can be
like too much lead in water.
|
$12.00 Poetry
36 pages
8" x 6" single signature with hand sewn binding
Published October 2016
|
$12.00 Poetry Anthology
48 pages
6.5" x 6.5" single signature with hand sewn binding
Published October 2016
|
I dreamt that I broke my key
off in the side door
and not for the first time.
I stood there,
wide-eyed and open-mouthed,
looking at the fat bit of bronzed metal
in my hand and the jagged
jut
sticking out of the off-white door.
|
Our town ventriloquist
amazed without a dummy,
putting his words into the mouths
of local people and their pets.
Politicians on TV certainly benefited.
It took skill, so few of us even bothered moving our lips
after a few years of silence and/or doubt.
Especially uncomfortable conversations
he would have with himself
when neighbors weren’t around to hear.
|
$2.50 Non Fiction
12 pages
5.5" x 4.25" single signature with hand sewn binding
Published October 2016
|
$12.00 Nonfiction
44 pages
8.5" x 5.5" single signature with hand sewn binding
Published September 2016
|
We collect in murders, spy
the eaves, survey the alleys,
streets, sidewalks. We receive
those who belong, flag those
who don’t. It was only last week
that the mother with the hawkish
nose, the mother with the talon grip,
called her small child. Mittens trailed...
|
1
The Angel of Death had yellow—
and-black wings that looked
gold and gray in the setting sun.
You can be killed any time
by someone you don’t know.
2
My mother’s side of the family doesn’t
exist anymore. Someone killed them all—
had them gassed, shot, hanged, injected.
I can’t think too much about it without
feeling I’m meeting the person I might’ve
been. Billions of us occupy the same small
planet, but it only seems like we’re sharing...
|