Poetry

James Dean died     On Hwy 46         west of Lost Hills ’55 silver Porsche Spyder     going too             damned fast Drove by there the other day     coyote crossed         in front of me     alive and running             fast enough My young cousin,         brand new motorbike     cross street in Berkeley 1:00 am         Just going too             damned fast All these years…

There is a window that invites with its invisible rim screenless screen diaphanous curtain ripples in the breeze. The window breathes in and breathes out the inside air and the outside air together and it scatters the light a burst of orange mosaic butterfly wing diffuses sunlight flutters on an exhalation from an indoor exultation.…

the volunteer morning glories sound their single white note, floating on noise-chorus tangled, green audio. flash of goldfinch beneath pale memory, moon yellow butterfly zig-zag flight hardly less than vivid, a crow barks—squalling orders overhead below small aircraft motor bothering the silence. relentless squabble brothers fight again next door, train whistle commentary passage along the silent…

My first reaction is to put Ben in park while hanging upside down. Ben is my first new car and is in the middle of the road sideways like a plaque clogged artery forcing all movement to stop. The crash was a macabre dance of slow-motion destruction. Front loading washer on the delicate cycle. Passengers…

Your mother believes in Egyptian cotton, eating meat, and a person can never be too thin or rich. Your dad lives in the land of sentiment and poetry and sends chocolates and scented soap. Their bed is white on white with matching comforter and shams. You chose your backpack for contour and cobalt blue pulls…

Lingering closed caption from previous commercial Zales Diamond Store over black & white footage of a rat crawling garbage