Wile E. Coyote Pauses for Thought All these unthinking technocratic years shooting myself from giant rubber bands and pawing vitamins –the kind that build your limbs into flexible hillsides– down my ravenous throat and here I still am, a blurring...

    Invitation The flamingoes are waiting, poised pink rippling across the water. Bubbles rise around my feet disturbing frogs and fish. I balance on one leg to show that I am good enough to be a bird. Hands on hips, I flex my elbows, lower my shoulders,...

      Ascent of the Blessed After Hieronymus Bosch Hovering a hundred feet over an ambulance in the starless dark, they congregate. Below: a machine frantic to restart my heart. My silver cord stretches, doesn’t quite snap. I look down on the mad...

      In a Time of Crisis Not all the small things you can do can save the world. Never say “It couldn’t happen here!” It could. Put on your best face for the future and take heart. Rescue those you can and leave the rest – the boat has only so much...

      Flying to Reykjavik I've been here hours. Sharing air with a factory of lawyers, a dead-eyed clerk, a bored, squinting judge and you. Stacks of files, a new party wall, divide us. In this windowless box excess words are trying to escape. They...

      choice (n). 1. a lack of certainty 2. a presence of freedom 3. a privilege of possibility choose (v). 1. to sacrifice 2. to forfeit ignorance 3. to exercise discernment 4. to implicitly accept responsibility chosen (adj). 1. the act, or art, of...

      Insomnia Night shakes hurt the most. Firm hands strangle the life out of sedate songs. You’re awake breathing the curse of noise, as dark sniggers. The hours clang, trees thump the ground, damp air sharpens knives. Prickly reminders have lodged in...

      Moderately / A Lot / Extremely I have saved up so many things that they get in the way:  the smell of your temple, just above the ear; the grip of your hand for fear it will be the last. Your laugh and every cumulative ambulance clang jam-stuffed...

      Goat Keeper There is a hill with a house, goats graze in a green pasture. They are my responsibility When the righteous priest comes with his red ribbon I will run him through with a pitchfork, pin him to a tree before he touches one hair on one...