How You Livin?


like the air ain’t filled with
coarse windchimes
sirens loud as a jet in flight

the quick jabs
of a couple arguing about cheese
and face masks
and children at borders
borders of language
and knotted bellies

I tell you
it’s hard to sleep
when the news is a bare-
skinned sidekick

I try to harden my shell
make it marble
filled with filament
and nails

but how you livin
among the salt, ash, and slate
at your doorstep— …

More In: Chronicles

Where I Go: Your Doctor, My Car, Our Neighborhood

What Volunteering to Drive My Aging Neighbors Taught Me About Life and Community

In the film industry, when a new movie flops, the studio often responds with layoffs, in part to cover the stiff losses. Thus, in spring 2015, after 39 years with …

What the Fingers Do


My daughter learned to point
in a cemetery.
There were many deaths that year.

The priests’ black shirts grew discolored from sweat.
Florists did well.
Pillowy, white fabric lined the open …

greenery overlapping in the poet’s back garden in Jakarta

for a jakarta microbiome



because do calls this house an ecosystem

where straddling folioles tangle mighty-fisted

along a wire canopy he strung

above the brick-and-pot garden, and city fox

coming like a client for bananas they feed it …

and Sundays.

Sundays are for the depressed
dancing in alleys
of fiction
of fructose

Sundays are for feeling small
submerged in our dreams

misty eyes
mild madness

green drapes
country music

Sundays are …

The Last Photo with My Father

At the threshold of the sitting room
On the only stair that separates the door and the floor
The device snapped

The father, his amaranth red bubu
The son, his …