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Paradise Relinquished
For some Want of other Lingers an Onerous gall Hanging low From the thinnest branch Of the tree of First thoughts Liminal semiotic birth Thus the eternal crooked semi-circle Shoulder-gazing Unknowing where and when Blood will hunger Read more
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Horizon’s Text Bent
Horizon’s text bent Unravels along its Farthest rim Inked of sun-drenched script No eye shall ever read Drops off into how memory is born Read more
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Poem with Stonehouse’s line “Reality isn’t created” (trans. Red Pine)
My Cold Mountain This morning shrouded in sea foam A thousand miles from any ocean. I am tired of smelling fish and salt air Among my beloved pines. I want to cut them down, burn their limbs In my stove and put my graying head Into the fire. “Reality isn’t created,” Wrote Stonehouse centuries ago.… Read more
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Russell’s Paradox: The Doxa of Gottlob Frege to Bertrand Russell: Bertrand Russell’s Head as Heliotropic Distemper (as a set of all distempers not heliotropic but eschatological remains): The What of the unwanted: The child
Letter to B.R. from G.F. Such a heliotropic mind you have; have I never seen before the sun staring out from your grape-set eyes as I have buried in the broken existence of your very own collection of being which is, it so happens, not quite the set you had in mind. O my… Read more
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Thinking of Goethe’s Ganymed
Morning sun through the open door A glaze of angst over everything Even the petted and pruned parts Of the reeved umbilical Recalling a thousand-breath sorrow Languishing in Goethe’s frail voice— Ich komm, ich komme! Wohin? Ach, wohin? Words turned to passing clouds in this life. Read more
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What’s lost is lost
What’s lost is lost: As a child building dreams From floating pebbles My fingers bled from the digging, The chipping away, the piling of One loose moment atop another All the while bearing down on The floating desert of my little destiny Not yet tall enough to crumble to dust. Read more
Umbriate Press Poetry 