To be Determined: Poetry, Society and Other Inanities

To Be Determined:

Poetry, Society and Other Inanities

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Poem: Between Hills That Were and Hills That Are

Feb 16, 2018

Poem: Between Hills That Were and Hills That Are

Between Hills That Were and Hills That Are I can’t remember the boy Who passed through the windshield. Never before, nor after—acquaintance At a party, arguing with some other stranger, Shoved out the door they then both were gone. Walking wild, someone recalled, afterwards, Willing his scored and blind body forward. Which is more dreaded : the gruesome Thing that is, or a thing so innocent, soon Become gruesome? Some few weeks The mark went road to field— Tread and blood, bl

Shallow roots and a deep heart: A conversation with poet Marcus Myers

Jan 29, 2018

Shallow roots and a deep heart: A conversation with poet Marcus Myers

The best friendships are those that are built on a deep understanding, something often not even verbalized. Maybe it's a fault of mine: I tend to seek these connections only. Maybe it's because I am an only child. Whatever the reason, I tend to make friends that are more like siblings... I think Marcus is one of those. I connected with Marcus Myers because I felt somehow I knew by second sight the world in which he grew up even though we only met in recent years. I know he fe

Poem: Even Wind Must Work

Jan 23, 2018

Poem: Even Wind Must Work

Even Wind Must Work Heavy, the eyes are waked into. Another small town as if a dream, Each one a glass forest, Passing headlights like metal birds. Faint din gathers, resonates as a chime : The full moon. Rising from bed damp, bare, Cooling in the lunar air, feeling my sex, Draping myself in the half-white dark. The kitchen clock chips away Longingly, without spite. The just-open window, The table’s crumbs in shadow, Some dirty floor… Looking back at her s

Poem: All Night Woman

Jan 18, 2018

Poem: All Night Woman

All Night Woman The midnight animals dousing themselves Into bouts of sickness, chugging brown bags At carnival jug tosses and radio rifle relays. Coin-op condoms pressed between big sweating Wads of small bills. The virgins in one booth, One after another—each are the only virgin, Forever and again. Toss the ring, Shout the weight. Just something to do : Night, fleshed out in the country. Nothing’s as simple as seems all this grift. : : Boys watching men run a slit down A fa

Poem: Pacific Starfish