just thinking

that now it is the year 2016, and I have been living in the internet for twenty-one years
hard to believe
how much things have changed from when I was young
I hardly ever go to the library any more
that used to be one of my greatest pleasures in life
now I sit at home and wander the world
armchair traveler who
hardly ever

a book      any                    m o r e

I have not written



that does not matter,

e n e r g y




you can hear the spotted dear

following your footsteps, tasting the salt


from your blog .


I remember four elements and states of matter

four tastes on the tongue and four corners of the mind


solid earth

liquid water

gasseous air

plasma fire


salt intuition

sweet emotion

bitter intellect

sour sensation







t h a t                                     is                           ALL






I saw her


As a child, riding in the car

passing under the old cement bridge




it was new, then .  .   .




As a young woman, struggling to be

equal to the officer men

who thought her




she was more

and is




even with the chin hairs

her stepson whines

I should trim




As an old lady


great – grandmother


struggling to hold a pen

scratching her head



she likes the hidden word



best .



CAPITAL LETTERS, small things.


CAPITAL LETTERS, small things.


There was a stair case

And there were steps.

There was a tree and

There were branches.

There were branches and

There were twigs.

There were twigs and there were leaves.

There were leaves and there were veins.

There were veins and there was sap.

There was sap and

There was







we stood on the rooftop, five floors up

gazing out to the west, over the Pacific

flowing cold currents bending south


I can make the dolphins come and go

she said

whistling and kissing at the air

with her drug addicted, whore lips


my mother believed her


I smiled


they were my neighbors, after





The stones have their part to play, their hard role.

We flesh and blood mortals will come and go,

then rest beneath their shadows of death.

Yet one water drop can freeze, crack their cold,

and crumble these towering giants of old.


Reborn as sand, their grains will populate

a thousand holiday beaches, countless

as stars spinning above our dreaming heads

while we lay down beside lover and mate.






His grace was undoubted, flying straight

toward the goal, an arrow shot from

Cupid’s bow, unhindered by his loss

of night, unchained from his weeping heart.

You might have heard it whistle past your

ears, once, after the harsh twang of string

propelled it forward through its nine lines.

Syllables measured the same number,

and there was no end until it struck.