PARKED, TEXAS

Yes—alone, I could stop for anything.
Fossil bed at a river’s wrist. Hello

aoudad on Blue Mountain, javelina
gnawing cactus. Stinky the cat hiding

in a closet. Every bee takes an hour
and that hour is the bee’s. Vultures braid through

the sky against the mountain. I under-
stand now, how one could come to doubt words here.

I learn a few names of people to call
friends. We pause in the dark, silent, looking

towards a light at …

More In: Poetry

Steep Ravine

Between sagebrush and the lichened rocks,
a covey of quail employ themselves.

Light disperses in the spray, and a seal
ducks under again. Home for them.

Swell and curl, the untrained wave

VERNEINUNG

In Belgrade in my hotel room
I return to the self portraits
from the earlier work:

smoking in the tub
while reading
texts on the New Art Practice.

When I step …

The State of Jefferson

Trucks shuffle in the slow lane.
Mt. Shasta’s a crazy white cone.
I drive as fast as I dare.
Car my shelter, my tiny house
of spiders’ nests and trash. …

Defend the Eastside

The 5, the 101, the 10
Suavecito for President
A funeral procession out of City Terrace
No ICE on the overpass
Just a shot on the countertop
Next to hot …

THE MOUNTAINS AND WATERS OF THE IMMEDIATE PRESENT

When I love another person, after I close the circle I say, “I know that things are not always all the way one way.” This is an idealized tenderness. That …