POEMS


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Red

in the copper urn
in the beaded purse
in the maple, the cherry
      turning
in the african belt
in the bentwood box
in the goldfish
      swimming the chilling pond
in the persian rug
in the porcelain bowl
in the photo of judd
      dancing with scarecrows
in the hopi drum
in the monster's mouth
in me, in me, in me

 

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  • Disclaimer

    Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.

    In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.

    It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.

    A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.


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