Art & Poetry

poem for connie dover

blameless, I can’t write….
while way out west,
you’re peeling off thin images,
a heavenly laundry.

You have a roped post in your pre-frontal
that holds forth in the wind of time,
its flapping white clothes happy
to be free of them bodies and their humors.

Them are there, they that lived and live now
and will live later, as if the days
were sparrows in a mirror held
close to the chest.

— Sokuzan 2013



from the
from the
river’s depth,
look at it,
your so so pain,
glowing before
you got here
like a moon
filled pie.

blink, blink no not
you, but a piece
you’ve named,
the broken stuff
from wounds
not made,
is drowning
where the
river was.

car poppa,
and garage
I dedicate
this so that I can
in the next bar-door’s

face it now,
you can always count on
what the bed seems
to hide,
new kittens,
an old shoe
a sock or two,
maybe some
crusty dishes
like memories,
you slid back
under there
last winter.

busting out
mixed with grief
the new kittens
are a slap
in the face
to fixations,
overcome with
simple joy
we can’t
a thing.

this thing we can’t
recall, has never left us
and never moves
but shimmers
as we bump into the bed post
at night, feeling for
a half glass of
water or the light switch
on a moving wall,
your facing
it now.

— Sokuzan 2012-2013