A Refutation

Every building

is a prison.

 

Every tree

is a bell.

 

Poetry is an attempt

to own the environment.

 

Before the written word

there was speech.

 

Before Speech

there was the body.

 

Before the body

there was essence.

October Reading

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New Book Announcement

Thrilled to announce that Radical Paper Press will be publishing my new book of poems, On Violence, before the end of 2019. radicalpaper

The Third Coming  

Here it is! At our well-worn feet

the third coming lies prostrate

because the second coming

wasn’t nearly enough

the third time’s the charm

surely, the third time will fix

planet earth. Or is it merely

that the second coming still lingers

in the vast desert that is our spent world

where imperial monuments crumble

from within, when each booming sound

in the sky is a premonition of every

commercial airliner falling out of the heavens

at once. Of our very brains being stolen

out of our heads while we sleep in bed.

Here it is! The end of the world, once again.

Baseball

That’s a man who knows how much a baseball means.

The dirt in the grooves all caked in like tiny mesas

on white plains. An old man who caught a foul ball

now feeling it between his fingers thinking about men

on the field with bodies stronger and faster than most 

of the world. The same ball that touched the very ground 

not ten seconds before and held by a millionaire. 

That’s a man who knows how much a baseball means. 

The great American past time now decried as a dying sport 

just like the failing empire destined to fall. 

To watch baseball is to watch America’s demise. 

No time. Just space. And dirt destroying everything.