When first approached, their

tails gently thump thump thump

yet I have watched these hounds

shred deer to bone licked

clean by ferocious tongues.

Sleeping, they seem no more

than lanky pups, glittering

canines concealed, but virile musk

urges them awake, famished,

no longer kenneled in dreams.

Thank you to the editors of California Quarterly for first publishing “Hounds.”

CA Quaterly

Touching Death

I’ve touched death twice and come back. I feel like a cat, though I’m not counting on nine. I was told as a child that I would not live even thirty years due to severe asthma…. http://www.cezannescarrot.org/vol4iss1/thisedgeofsea.html

Thank you to the editors of Cezanne’s Carrot for publishing “This Edge of Sea.”

edge of sea image


Nature is relationships in space.
Geometry defines relationships in space.
Art creates relationships in space.

~M. Boles and R. Newman


I’ve fallen for painting furniture. The shape of this old black table compelled me to paint it with acryllics.

A close up of the top:

u table

The unending sentence says:

“love is here,” he said. “I will stay,” she said, thus opening a window in the sky for birds and stars to pour forth which is how we learned everything is Love is here, he said. I will stay, she said, thus…




Crescents of tangerine cool nipples

that purse like lips as

O of navel grips its slice &

taut shiny glans raises its

section to the sun, hot through

blue-green leaves of eucalyptus;

tongue slides between citrus & skin,

belly arcs smooth,

teeth release juice bursting

through this moist cavern,

tongue, lapping in slow pulses,

swallows wet open flames.

Thanks to the editors of HOT FLASHES: sexy little stories and poems for including this poem.

Hot Flashes

Left Coast Writers

January 17, 1991: this endless war


January 17, 1991

The day after war begins I
reach to hold, be held
beneath the crescent sliver of waxing snow moon
I feel your chest press   retreat   as we embrace
silken hair weaves through finger-
tips. Men and women die
in a city no longer theirs   no longer
home. Your arms wrap me
as water holds wreathes
and Iraq retaliates,
missiles strike Jerusalem,
ten year old girl cries within the brown
mantis face of her gas mask.
Pressed peach of our cheeks
parts my lips near the tenderness of your neck—
I want to feel
your breath on my tongue
your tongue as I breathe.
And what of those in Baghdad
no warning?

Thank you to the editors of We Speak for Peace and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for first and then reprinting this poem, respectively.


Dark in Light

Dk in Lt

Dark in Light

Wanted to show you the moon
but cruised off the wrong ramp
and wound up in a war zone
where there is no curfew:
men standing solo in the middle of the street
or huddled, talking beneath burned-out lamps;

wanted to show you the soccer moon
but drove down darkened roads with bars
enclosing windows and doors,
barbed wire spiraling a hardware
store and nursery—planks and daisies
out of reach;

wanted you to count the seas
across that haloed orb
but drove alone
through neighborhoods as treeless
as that dog-song moon;
beat-up cars driven
beyond unmarked borders
pulled over by uniforms
with clubs and guns,
jagged tension cutting concrete air;

I want to know who
declared this war of Americans
against Americans:
children peer from sheeted windows,
women hide behind hollow doors,
a man looks up from an empty street,
each of us equal
distance from the sun’s reflective sphere.

Thank you to the editors of Something Like Homesickness and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for, respectively, printing and then reprinting this poem.


Poems, Prose, Photos & the Art of Being Human