selected past writing at 42opus
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd…
Did you know the ocean has a skin this morning, a real skin of light, like a newborn? October turning tropical.
If not art, why would our family villanelle
have been just Say it!, all arguments end-stopped
rhymes with ever and fend. Whatever else
explains this morning's layers of birdsong and wind?
15 May 2009 | poetry
All I think is watch the I
and the I takes over. I'm so sick
of branches equal limbs
equal my legs and arms…
17 March 2006 | poetry
The day her husband died, her period stopped. It just shut itself off and left her, left the blood building and boiling inside, fermenting into this rage that she could only release at the piano. It wasn't supposed to happen like that…