Tag Archives: poem

Living on the Streets

I never chose to be here

Amid concrete and cheap booze—

I’d sooner die but bodies carry on for years.


I hear the wailing ricochet of children

Held within this hell of rolling veins.

No, they never, never chose to be here.


Limbs stiffened from cold sidewalks trap me

As pustules grow and lice feed on my skin—

I’d sooner die but bodies carry on for years.


Violence is not televised on streets; instead, it jeers at battered

Skulls and broken bones—we’re easy prey for kids.

No, I never chose to be here.


Whiskey holds back cold and memories that leer of oboe played

Amidst the smoke, thighs wrapping mine through dawn.

Now, I’d sooner die but bodies carry on for years.


With deafened ears and eyes averted, you comment on

My stench as you dart into the restaurant;

I never chose to be here—

I’d sooner die but bodies carry on for years.


Thank you to the editors of Mediphors: A Literary Journal of the Health Professions for first publishing this poem.

Are There Lizards in Your Family Tree?

Are There Lizards in Your Family Tree?

Do you scuttle lithely sand and stone,

peek out from rocks through half-shut lids

while others’ hands are clasped in dance

beneath the bone-white crescent slit?


Are your eyes autonomous,

right darts to lips and left to toes;

as softer flesh sips steamed orgeat

do you watch the spoon, the ankles cross?


Do you begin each day with push-ups

then shield yourself from sun in shade;

when threatened do your muscles flex,

your speech reduce to a chortling hiss?


Do others comment, How cold your hands,

How dry your skin—do you dream of

grasshoppers sweet in your mouth, or

screaming wake from the jaws of a snake?


Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.

Till Winter Solstice 2011

Thank you for following this blog. I appreciate your support. This blog will resume Winter Solstice 2011…consider the time between as poetry’s space on the page since:

…it is silence that exposes our fiery hearts to serpentine tongues,

silence that would strip our marrow if not for the pulsing muteness

of flesh kneading flesh, of snakes and stars and moon-shackled seas.

(excerpt from “If Not for Silence” )

The painting is part of a larger watercolor that I’ll post in the future.

Zoe, the main character of my novel-in-progress, continues to photoblog at bonegirlpix.wordpress.com