on the Underground map uneasily, wondering how such ideal points and lines can add up to anything resembling the surface.
Category: people
I have nothing against people. There just aren’t too many of them in my neighborhood.
Do the inhabitants of the past ever tire
of our clueless questions and our rapacious gaze?
cloudy Sabbath
all eyes are on the bright
heirloom tomatoes
Purely cosmetic.
A found videopoem.
Audubon walk
admiring a pheasant’s
dismembered foot
that faint overlay
on every cellphone photo—
my own face
January moon
we startle at each other’s faces
fresh paint
a butterfly lands on the ladder to have a taste
a line of balloons
beside the campus elms bobbing drunkenly
a still child
only her eyes keep dancing
an ancient beach
on the sandstone ridge we still stoop for baubles
