Saturday, February 25, 2006


The First Time

He says if we don't do it now, we might
as well forget about it altogether.

The motel room walls smell
of stale cigarettes and Pinesol.

I have come all this way, can't retract now.
His blue eyes widen,

suddenly seem transparent
as he descends.

He moves into me and I can see through
his head, through the ceiling and the room above,

through the roof and the rain
to the still black sky

where there is no sound
or taste or touch.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

A Different Kind of Bird

This art piece is brought to you by Walaka who captured a moment of
Origami Nightingale's life when the day was so bad
that the world needed to be shown
this bird.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

In Memoriam

Pepper the Cat
(friend & fellow bird watcher)


Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Monday, February 06, 2006


Not Writing

If only it were easy—like a kiss
after a lull of kisses:

the lips know how to part
to let a slip of warm breath through
and perhaps a moist tap of the tongue.

Even if the nose struggles to find a space
on the landscape of the face, bumping
as it does like knees against furniture,

at least there is movement, a sense
of purpose—the chest can feel like this—
a burning there, a familiar fire:

blue in the center, white edges
piercing like the sun.