we are minefields walk daintily around the ruts you find each day, we lay out more and bury them just under the surface of the loam we are minefields stretched out across the barren landscape beneath a killing moon asleep, still sleeping, beneath a killing moon — ptkh 06.12.10
Category: Poetry
coffee stains
Would that it were that easy to retain for a moment in the mind the sensation of a whisper percolations and perambulations roll around inside the divining and we are left, a moment too late, without and without — ptkh, 06/03/10
Sandlot
A caveat: Being deliberate is not the same as being meaningful. I sketched the figure of your face in the sand to remind me of something I’ve since forgotten. I took a photograph although your visage is hard to see in the print, because of the angle of the sun and how fragile the negative…
Burlap
my soul was rent asunder by a jigsaw of ice and fire that tore my flesh i was left jagged and alone drowning in the gore of indolence i gathered myself into a burlap sack in justification of nothing and scattered my ashes into the winds — ptkh 04.30.10
the unspoken wall
she’d seen the unspoken wall every day, and every day she’d wondered how to take it down a wall between him and her a ghostly veil that shimmered at the edge of her vision yet invisible when stared right at she told herself it was the wall that kept them apart she told herself that…
Raise High the Gondola Oars
The day JD Salinger died, I was standing near St Mark’s Square watching the pigeons attack a tourist who’d been too reckless with a handful of seeds. The weather was overcast, the clouds hung low like marshmallow soufflé, water in the distance slapping against idle gondolas. A brawny Venetian on his way to the kilns…
Poem for Somebody
I drew you a picture in colored sand and let the wind blow it away. I hope it landed at your feet and that you could still make out the traces of what was meant to have been. I sent you a message in puffs of smoke that mingled with the clouds that rained on…