A city club awning becomes
the abominable snowman’s mouth
full of icicle dagger teeth. I don’t want to
wake the beast. I walk uncovered,
keep a safe distance
from the fringe. Let snow fall
on my head instead. I don’t believe in
monsters but know my beliefs
have nothing to do with it—winter
risks, or getting struck by lightning come spring.
Will not
talk about it–
no circumpolar whirl
wind shear doldrums super storm fog–
just air.
for Sheri
Gone. Did the New York Subway #1
train pickpocket keep
them? I shouldn’t have kept them
all in my wallet. I wanted
some—any—scrap left
of you with me
at all times. You had been
gone only a little
over a year. I should have paced
myself. I was too young
and naïve to understand the infinite
nature of your absence. You understood
limits and functions
so much better
than I ever could. And
the symbol
for infinity could be
a pattern we used to scrape out
with our skates
on the Thornton Park Ice Rink.
Three years
and keep counting
up then down to return
to a time I still feared lighting
a match.
Super
cold Monday comes
to strip away layers
to reach the core of what truly
matters.
Problems
with skin and boots
and the lights flicker off—
on again like below zero
sunshine.
No longer his
birthday, she can
relax for another
364 days. If only
it were a leap
year. She might use
that extra 24 hours
to practice forgetting
who he ever was.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,400 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 40 trips to carry that many people.
No more
excuses left—
Saint Paul here she comes now
riding the Green Line LRT
at last.
Flashing
red and white light
above wild clay cliffs
will fade to memory without
rescue.
