Runes & Rhymes

Perhaps you will consider this a eulogy

I see myself in the television screen (where the man stands in a sweatshirt that says “6 million was not enough”) ...

The Year of Elisions

It is Decemberin the year of elisionsthe vowels of feelinghave been lost to fit the metric povertythe 300,000 lost in the leapsacross the lines...

When That Day Comes

We’re waiting for the day when we can say, it’s over, foreverWe’re tired of all the lies, and all the guys who’ve gone to...

By Allergy and Allegory

There is a ghostland somewhere near Of spirits of the Earth And aging oxygenated dirt And there is hope and there is hate But no one ever shows up late


The border of Mexico is exactly 1,006 miles away from the hospital where I was born. Which means that had I been born, say, 1,007 miles to the south my destiny would be aligned under very different stars.

For John Lewis 1940-2020

O holy martyr when you crossed the river to be beaten by the state troopers of the Promised Land O redeemer of Dixieland when you felt the clubs touch skin and blood and blood touch dirt

Today the pedestals are empty

Today the statues float in rivers and finally the citadels of false reverence are beginning to fall What does it say about us that we are obsessed with protecting the statues of the long-dead

Actualizing Emerald City

Cities, I wonder what you must have looked like to my grandparents and my great greats when they steamed into Detroit from Hungary or New York Harbor from Russia and India

Where did the books go?

We read in school about suffering writers, about novels of suffering, stories from eternal gripers...

To my city in a coma along the Colorado

Down where the rocks end in green water, and the dusty paths finally terminate, the river washes away sticks...