Delusional Episodes

I cannot find my mother in the dark.

The Pond

Poetry from Confrontation 119.

Our Little Piece of Sky

Poetry from Confrontation 119.

Saint Albert of the Asses

Poetry from Confrontation 119.

The Unraveling Wind-up

There is sand on the sheets of the bed in this room. No matter.

Dusk/the piano

There is a pause. You consider what I’ve said, then you begin playing Für Elise. I am lonely in a way no nearness can alter.

In Joseph’s Kitchen

My friend Joseph, in his plaid shirt, old jeans & slippers, tells me he’s studying Heidegger again.

The Night She Brought Home the Belladonnas

my wife told me to go fuck myself. I detested the closed petals, the hidden corollas folded like a carapace, not letting the light beam in . . .


At my age one becomes a bird. The doctor is grave about my bones, so empty that a narrow light shines through.

My Personal Jesus

Jesus, you would freak me out, all that pulpy ooze / Leaking down your spear-driven ribs and, higher up,

The 2014 Confrontation Poetry Prize: Interstate

Memory drove me to the edge of town / and told me to get out. I refused:

A Violent Sound in Almost Every Place #161

I appreciate the risks of the postcard, the lovely,