2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 42 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

No Endings—Or, Red Fences

She turns off
movies just before

the last scene, closes
books and shuts off
the light with five pages

left to read. She forgets
the definition of closure—
still talks to exes alive

or dead. Never
celebrates New Year’s Eve
where anyone can see her. Stops

writing a poem without completing
the arc

They Call It Prohibition

I dream of sipping espresso
from a tiny ceramic cup
in a hotel bar high
above the streets
and skyway. And I tower
over a city that dreams
bigger than it looks. They call it
Prohibition—it’s not illegal
for an alcoholic
to recover the view.


To blame a rodent
for this disruption, this return
to the primitive,

is what I do
when singed mystery
holds no appeal. What about a snake

or hawk? Could be human
error—and into its portal

the soul just might come into view.
If only I didn’t blink it away.

Power Out Wednesday

A transformer explodes, a squirrel
dies, civil twilight crashes

into darkness faster than my fingers
can touch the right digits

for relief. To open this book
of scents written by a left

hand to a stranger is exposure
I might not survive. To hide

the ink stains of impressionistic
thought is to remain in a corner

that might not be found
by a flashlight search and repair.

Never on a Tuesday

The left hand competes
with the right
to give you the definitive
signal. Time out. No longer
a snorer. The quieter the room,
the greater the tension
of finger mirroring finger,
thumbs pressed to white.


A violent thought drives
him to grab
the nearest railing
so he won’t spill

himself onto the deck.
The calm water
is a song
he wrote before he knew

how to speak
to women with mouths

like hers. White knuckles
and wet wrists, he remembers
now. Oh, that’s right.

Lead Sinker Brain Brats

To float is not
always the goal.
Some air bubbles
burst for no reason.
On those nights, I let go
of my need to follow the moon.

Double-Sided Clock

I rearrange the furniture
in my head

to clear a path
to that alcove

of possibility. Poetry is

written in Braille
with lemon rind

and a candle burning
at each station.

Take No Heroes Hotel

Everyone has reservations.
A porch no one
can describe wraps
around its house—tightening,
tightening. Hugs

the footprint as a disciple
of home is
where you check in
without a check-out time. Tin
tile ceilings in the two-story

lobby. A triangle
park and a bluff
anchor all activity
in the oceanfront garden. Bonfire
night after night where effigies

of the over-worshipped burn.
What washes ashore below

erases questions and desire
for answers. I could drag
my dinghy across the sand
and know it’s time.