Dave Outhouse asked me for a poem for him to submit to Seattle buses. Theme is "our body of water." So I sent him these three.

Sea Shanty

I'm covered up with sand and

all the weight of the Puget Sound

With words harder than rocks

for getting off my chest

but boulders are swayed by waves

and waves swayed by tides

So I give whatever I take
and take whatever is best

Words May Be

Webbing in which
vertical tiers maintain
horizontal buoyancy

or

The very shears to snip
the strands to sink ourselves
in the roiling sea

(I love how that poem's form matches content, the way the latinate words buoy up the first stanza and then the second sounds like something sinking fast.)

Last Night


Glowing phosphorescent footprints

receding before me as I

walk backward

into the

sea

(and another where form matches content)

Hart Hits The Koop

Hart Hits The Koop

The beer of some dear friends

is made with sheer hops

(the will-'o-the-wisp

in the lion's den)

with happiness and bliss

so real and intense

it's like new love.

The holy drunk at

the happy dumb show,

a way to agree, three

and you're full, four

and the keys to

the universe are yours.

A memory can be

erased forever? So then

do it again! Men in black

erased your memory, an epic day,

somebody happened, but who?

The bartender's listening,

she doesn't want too many

question marks or

exclamation points.

She pours us another beer

and then the archer,

the flickering candle,

and the point of the arrow

finally arrives.

baby teeth

POEM FOR A WOMAN I ONCE KNEW

The body is what gets the body going.

Then, afterward, you read the articles.

The body that gets the body going

is enlivened by the mind and the mind

produces I. And why does mind produce I?

I don't know. Maybe for the same reason we have baby teeth.

Maybe I’m a philosopher, but I’m weak.

I‘m more of a poet.

relief

Midday Unmanifesto

I don't believe in absolutes.

I absolutely do not.

Every thought I believe

I believe the opposite thought too.

I don't believe in relief

I believe in relief of relief.

I don't believe in belief but

I do believe belief can relieve.

How could one reasonably say

"I don't believe in belief?"

Each thought is a relief.

Each thought let go is a relief of a relief.

Baby’s awake.

I will save this for later.

The flaccid ace

The flaccid ace

Self-disgust's busted.

it could never rule,
the way old gold can,

by taking a pounding.

Get up

and get going

into the flow like
well-hammered gold

liquidity

Love is a liquid thing

ebbs and flows

spills and splashes

but always seeking its own level

Always feeling its own filling

Welcome to NY

Welcome to NY

When I first moved to NY 

I was looking for a place to rent 

and picked up a Brooklyn Rail at a cafe. 

I opened it on the L Train 

and there was a poem by Cedar Sigo 

in which I recognized one of my own lines.

I shook my head and smiled. 

Cedar had "borrowed" one of my lines. 

It was a perfectly New York School thing to do. 

The line was perfect for the occasion too. 

"How beautifully the brakemen allow the blood through." 

I felt as if I had been given the key to the city.