Poetry in the Age of Wireless Unfashionable now — The long hours spent Shaping lines, For a dwindling clientele Of other poets Who might still notice The workmanship: The craft, The grain of the line, A phrase honed smooth Or left rough as timber. The rest pass by without looking. And yet the trade persists — If trade is even the word — Not for profit or praise But because past connections Must be held intact Even now, in the wireless age; Because the old

A Dark Illumination     Once again, we are here, as we are   on this day every year,   two hearts lit up with pain.   And as day falls...

Everything is made of light. Everything is light, of differing gradations and qualities, from the big bang to the atom. Earth and sky...

Beneath a red lightbulb innumerable doves swim as if in a cold, gold sun.   Birth, creation, a ruinous origination. Decomposition settles...

Time pursues time and light comes up behind light. One sun follows another – each circle of bright ringed by a dark corona. But when...

Late October Afternoon: A Weak Watery Sun -- Not What it Was But Not Dead Yet.

Part 1: Being and heaviness People who suffer from depression often complain of a feeling of heaviness; not just in the emotional or...