Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Transit Museum

On the bus back from the city I saw
a broad lady reined by overcoat
pause in the studded crowd.
Ten minutes later
I remember her, how the storm
washed the sepia sidewalk, 
how all the pedestrians stopped
before the finished painting: this street
was not dark or any one color,
but a stained glass wreck
of angles and men.
I saw the truest mess soak through that street.
And now I press my brow
to my water-veiled window as this vehicle
sighs into Short Hills.
Out there, 
even the remotest puddle holds its pose.
The unfeeling foot hesitates
over its own reflection, then
stumbles back
into the black and white
photograph of this drenched town, 
so false under glass.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Emo Endeavors

I wrote my first unquestionably bad poem the other day.  It reminded me of the time this nine year old at my old camp ran to get ice cream and accidentally stepped on a baby bird.  For some reason.  I will post it, anyway, of course.


Just dismiss as imprecise
these lined and written hands.
I seek out stations to replace
our bygone garden shade.
We bide in fire seized
beneath ceiling fans and snow, know this traffic
like an age: even I
fear these amber fires as home.

My heart sits, my legs ache with peace,
I am almost dressed.
All the while I adjust my faith
to the flesh of your bedroom, those
untouchable walls, soft toys
whispering once the doorknob grasps
the imminence of arrest:
you ask nothing, but hover
amongst the lost flock long gone
from your eyes.  And as they see me
to the stairs, I am made a child,
holding fast to the rail, to the flightless
arms of a falling elm.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Testing, Testing...

This is my dumb first post.  I have no idea what the point of this blog is yet, but I decided I want to keep one after abandoning my adorable xanga two years ago.  I predict most of the crap on here will be as self-deprecating and aimless as this brief introduction.  Enjoy.