we build our memorials, our rings of stone.
Teeth sprung from their skull prisons
enjoy a second obsolescence as typewriter keys.
Audubon walk
admiring a pheasant’s
dismembered foot
On a friend’s kitchen counter,
three potatoes had gone feral, growing ghostly branches out of their eyes. I kept my shirt pulled down so my navel wouldn’t get any ideas.
For a moment I forgot where I was,
the familiar trail colored by my train of thought, which might take me anywhere.
In my dream the creek says:
I am not your pet. I can rise. In one afternoon I can take back everything I’ve laid down for a thousand years.
Someday when the world is entirely covered with roads,
there won’t be any place left to visit—and therefore no reason to ever slow down.
Of all doomed friendships,
none is more tragic than that between a compulsive blurter and an obsessive brooder.
such flakes
they can’t possibly be gathering
all on their own
mass extinction
all the empty beds
standing on end
Walking in the snow,
one feels at times barely tethered to the earth.
wetlands in winter
I crush another cathedral
with every step
