Archive for December, 2011


there is an electrical gremlin in my car I turn the key and a cough laugh gasps dials wild clock resets stranded in mid-Ohio my son asks “are we there yet?” I tell him “sometimes it’s okay to be lost.” (9 line poem written in 9 minutes at SPIT open mic)


of hands pausing hovering above] the tips of fingers the arch and whorl pad callus capillarian beating] the encompassing round palms hoarding of sound] of wooden boards planed for resonance, wires taut and twisted too wound about to quiver] the ordered rank of keys as yet unplayed] every knuckle angle precise] an ex] halation