on the nature of coincidence


on the morning of september 11, 2001 i looked at the clock (digital) on a wall of my kitchen to see the time was 11:11

i then immediately heard behind me the ‘tink tink tink’ sound from my phone indicating a voice message had been received

i did not hear the ring tone of the arriving call because my phone was programmed not to ‘disturb’ me before 11:11

the call came in just enough time before 11:11 that i was not disturbed by it’s commencement

the message left by the caller ended at exactly 11:11 which is why i heard the three tinks

on my 11th birthday i played a game with the neighborhood children in which i was a crazy character named ‘leventy ‘leven

i ran and jumped and fell and ran and jumped and did cartwheels and I feverishly repeated the words, ‘i’m ‘leventy ‘leven! i’m ‘leventy ‘leven’ while the others tried to avoid me

my friend stephen adams died in one of the towers

these events must be related and so they are



there is none but the many no where but the now this is the way to the stars if you climb the stares to find them the matter of the matter is in is a state of flux not in a mill one of these days you’re gonna get you’re due drops lightly over a setting son relocated across the boulevard waiting to be paid to be paid who shall claim the accession ? (more…)

playing (with Fire)


stories about my childhood
that I know to be true
but don’t believe–
memory isn’t mine

killing black snakes from a boat
in the pond behind Art’s
corner store
dill pickles
thirty three cent smokes
a mars bar under my belt
he caught me the first time
wouldn’t be the last




at presents under the bed—
first regret

sidewalk cafe
windy morning
no news

on scat

(after Buson)

sunset ridge
dragonflies hover
above the distant city

prayer beads counting birds on a wire

the view
from Mt Baldy
no words

a streetlight turns off cracks in the ceiling

against the current
carrion smell

far offshore
a fish leaps
no sound

(published in HSA Anthology 2017)

a dark turmoil
around the jetty at night

what she said
of god, of love—
a hack saw

these words are all I have are these words

the slow fall of sunlight
down rough hewn siding
blueberry moonshine

the smell of her broken moon

the silence of night
a quiet cacophony
bourbon, rocks

with the sword I thee wed

empty bourbon bottle
I am not
what was done to me

under the fan
her note flies from my hand
Key West heat

my dead father
every time I cough
every time…

(after Issa)

one dog barking
after another
distant siren

playing clarinet
with her dog
pierced ears

that guy in First Class
leaning right—
recycled air

after Bingo
so much depends
in the laundry basket

footprints in the sand
are washed away by the tide—
summer love



She stands out there for the world to see,
her undecided right arm raised
against the ash grey sheet,
neither beckoning nor saluting,
four stubby half fingers
mocking the wave you might prefer
to have seen.


Fruit Lady


In her previous life
she held up the roof
of a high school gymnasium.

She misses the sneaker chirps
and the thap, thap, thap
of bouncing orange balls
less than she enjoys
being upright in the sun
bearing only the weight
of an imaginary fruit bowl
on her upturned head.