few things strike terror in my heart

but when I read this...


Friday, January 23, 2009


    Writing Green


I get to writing after the moisturizers have all worn away.

After the cats have been put to bed, mind you.

Pluralizing the ways things break. I found you at the bookstore.

We who articulate one another.

Press me into service.

You must know how it feels, fucked and jacked and whistled.

You must know how the wind feels yellow at the crack of cold. You must have seen the short lines we were forced to inhale.

You must have seen me on the ground during last summer's rainstorms, singing.

You must have heard me sighing.

Steelton be damned,

We are singing.