The Seeker

the universe is [for any who so choose] in a garden in Mouries - or Van Gogh's room in Arles - one weird wall [not a drafting mistake an unexpected angle] a red blanket a rough-hewn bed a chair, a window what? do you really think there must be more? these are not enough? forensically …

[ are poems made ]

are poems made or do they just happen or does something happen take place occur (none concur) that's then tweaked and sleeked... and patched-the-leaked and sent out unwittingly - scribbler sitting prettily - while gawkers and rubes stare down its tubes and you wonder rather why would anybody bother. . .

Advice to the aspirant

That a thing be common, vulgar or coarse makes it no more honest than that it be rare and utterly beautiful. Of the blushing bride or the weary prostitute neither is a greater or lesser truth. It is within the poet’s power to refashion the entire world – and his reward will be the highest, …

arterial

Freeverse? What the hell is that?. Pretend poetry. Blank, yes, but free? Or is it just me - because I can't ditch the cadence. It's like a taunt, haunting as I feel my way down alleys like four fingers into a glove. There is a stepdance rhythm in my ancestry. i can't help it; it …

&

a beam of light cones to the carpet & a night moth the size of a thumbnail casts a shadow the size of your average bat & I see that I am become that house divided you heard about - the one that could not stand - no man can serve two masters - no …