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Se more in the Auburn Examiner!


Find more of my poetry on Mad Swirl:

imagine me

        a stranger


I consider myself to be a stranger everywhere.

                                                  – Albert Einstein –


imagine the wave


center it

           in a spherical lake



           in free space


waves of electrons



           with paper swans



           to the outer edge

                      of time


how could I ever tell you


I want to be a woman


I want

           to be a swan


rose print paper

petals scattered



           on fire


I want to fold myself


                      into myself



Published in the delinquent, issue 13 ( and in The Far Field (





long after

our wars

and our pollutions

fail to kill us



and the Earth we cling to


will return

to the dust

stars are made of


no whispers

no bangs

just cold heat

from a dying sun

a final embrace

of light


the small hopes

we have


into endless oceans

of time


nothing more

than graffiti

on the universe

saying only

we were here

we existed


even these

will be lost

among gathered dust

and debris


until they burn away


across the sky

of some distant planet

born eons after

Earth’s demise


a creature there

may find

an odd relic

and say to it’s fellows

these metals

these etchings

cannot be made

in nature


amid phosphorescent

flickers of dissent


this creature


will be laughed out of the room

into cool night air

where it will tilt

it’s sensory protuberance up

to better hear

the stars



and think


just maybe

we are not




Published in Farther Stars than These ( archived 7/7/16





are you

what we would have been



the Annunaki


changed us

made us more like them



North American


great ape

our cousin lemur


are you

our past haunting us


our lost

potential made flesh


made fur

leaving loping tracks



our most secret dreams



Published in Aphelion ( Issue 207, Volume 20 June 2016



wishing on a black hole


before the ender of time


finds us



           we had more


before all dust


is returned


to its singular source


let us add


a few splashes

           of color


to the unfinishable canvas


of understanding



Published in Bear Creek Haiku ( August 2015



house demolished

years ago

nobody told

           the tulips



Published in Crab Creek Review ( 2007



Cento 1


It’s the dream we carry

From the Northern lakes with the reeds and rushes,

for the thoughts we share

not ready to give it over

to the eternal surf, to Time!

Swallow this, it will make you well.

Come stand with me, look forward, not back,

For this is love and nothing else is love,



           A Cento is a form where each line is taken from another poem.


           Olav H. Hauge, Borealis, translated by Robert Hedin

           Andrew Barton Paterson, The Black Swans

           Nikki Giovanni, A Poem of Friendship

           Naomi Shihab Nye, Boy and Egg

           Pablo Neruda, Always, translated by Brian Cole

           Ogden Nash, Adventures Of Isabel

           Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Let us not be bitter

           Robert Frost, A Prayer in Spring



Published in Five Willows Poetry ( January 2016




if it ain’t broke
        spread the juicy mantra of sprawl

blue heron takes flight
        behind slaughter     shrubbery

fire dire wire     clever moon

        Terra Luna
                on fire
        ablaze     watching

mulch of willow
blue dragonflies
                a smog
        of beady houseflies

the old ones spoke of this
                they said




(This is where Terra Luna came from.)



in the shape of a bird

it sings

rearranges itself

beneath trees
and shadow
are fluid

the song
is gone





Published by: Kind of a Hurricane Press, Tranquility issue



when gravity fails

my grandmother’s cat

adopted me

from her latest litter
was my best friend

we chased each other
all around our back yard world

he hid in the wood pile
liked the smell

I’d reach in
he’d bat my hand
as I tried to pull away
he’d nudge out
I’d bat at his paws

then he was gone

my dad said
he asked my brother
to drive him to the country

and leave him there

he found his way back
with a broken hip

they took him somewhere again

he didn’t come back




make themselves


to wings

to wind


there are only letters


incoherent marks


they fade

all that’s left

the listening



The Wolf

the wolf
thin and sly
you howl
twinkle in your eye
at the moon
in the midnight sky

the night
is your own
yours and yours alone
quick you run
through the wood of home

chill mist
hear your tune
you hunt
ghosts through the damp gloom
howls once more
at the pale full moon



(This is one of the first poems I ever wrote, I was 12 or 13)



naked we run

across the sky
gold and silver fishes
holding our breath

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