November 24, 2015 § Leave a comment

parsing innocence

if there is innocence to be had at our age then we already are, beyond that to talk about it wistfully as if we aren’t is a dog(ma) and pony show is the language of privilege, (like vulnerable as if we aren’t which is why we aren’t) or as if the patina of our experience should be disavowed as if it and therefore we are no longer innocent in that bad of good or bad way, in that besmirched no longer virginal now whore way
no I’m thinking open is the least laden of the words I’d choose but there is a suppleness and fertility creativity and delight and readiness by which I mean ripe and keen and fierce and peaceful, by which I mean at peace, at play in the word—not to mention imaginative and generous—that doesn’t look anything like innocent to me

circularities; a gathering of old friends

November 3, 2015 § Leave a comment

original poems typeset and hand printed by author on Ostrander Extra Heavy; Vandercook SP-15; Vandercook Proofing Press; Poco Proof Press (not in that order)

Poem text 24 pt Caslon Italic and 12 pt Roman
moon cirlces & title News Gothic 18 pt. name 14 pt

bifold single sheet of found paper
edition of 12

circle of letters includes those of our first names


dotteronomy I

October 29, 2015 § Leave a comment


October 19, 2015 § 1 Comment


thinking of the understanding clubs, the you   don’t   can’t understand (and can’t be a member of the club because you aren’t fill in the blank) in this particular case parent asif not agreeing with is the same as not understanding asif disqualified, as if dismissed, and the dangers inherent in this kind of isolationism, flag planting, and dismembering

thinking of how they, my fellows in a collaboration, chose a cover which wouldn’t have been my first choice, and how  ✪⦿just the point▹► that it won’t turn out to be simply another goldberg

thinking about how we bridge allow understand difference


I’d wanted to make one of the clamshells out of cardboard as opposed to book board, because I wanted a different, less ‘special’ feel, and I did, and it does and it worked; I’m pleased but I’m not sure what I think of it, as opposed to how I feel about it, or I’m not sure how I feel about it as opposed to what I think of it either way, as these things go it has its moments, as I would say, and you never know until you really do it how an idea may work out or not


if as they say, the next note in all good improv, is the tell, and as I say, anything we’re good at takes practice, I guess what comes next will be telling



October 11, 2015 § 2 Comments


not that winter is around the corner but it is on my mind on our mind and the first round of clearing the decks for whatever shenanigans it may offer is in the offing, chimney was reamed out and I’m eyeing my low lying shop with a fair bit of scrutiny and forethought and planning for encroachment of our beloved river where it ought not be but we knew the job was dangerous when we took it so, we’ve got to work with it so I’m cleaning off the galleys, and readying paper for drier environs and making it readier

what’s new she asked and when I didn’t answer she asked what was old and that was the better question though really the answer bridges the new and old, as does this time of year, equinox, fall, birthday, anniversary, new year, and winter in the looming

so I’m coming clean. finishing what I’ve started so I can move on, and it’s not that you do ever catch up because you never aren’t starting something new, but you mark a mark, and catch up to there, and so I’m catching up so I (without resistance) can move on to what’s next

wind on the water pelicans flying around
sounds like a haiku he said. bodega head picnic, sandwich from the sandwich place chowder from the best chowder place a spot along the water
smiles the color of fall

clearing the proverbial deck to make room work my way past what stands in for procrastination or resistance but likely is part of the sorting learning remembering what I need for the book of house poems so it is what it is to be at its best, and a proper pulling together of the strands, as all the current work seems to be

that was when I lost my leaves

September 16, 2015 § Leave a comment

We of PenHouseInk fame used to say of editing that the last cut was the deepest since it meant finally getting rid of what we of PHI fame called our pleased as punch lines, and punchlines, the lines which made you the writer weep, the lines which begin as the heart of the matter, then the scaffolding which holds the piece up until it supports its own weight such that those lines, the lines that made you weep because they were the lines which held the story, which held the feelings which propelled you to write the piece in the first place, were of course no longer needed because once finished the very work of the piece as a whole is to elicit those feelings in the reader

andso those punchlines are rendered by comparison a roughly hewn bludgeon

I was reminded of this at the shoppe yesterday when lyn, and brooke, were looking at an almost completed version of the latest book in the cycle of who am I what do I want how do I know, NAME; the first story. And after a short while they said, “we’re going to put it together how we think it should go,” (which is sort of what I say about someone else’s work, in its formative stages, if I read it differently from the way it is being laid out) to which I responded, “I am not afraid!”

Turns out they were offended or jarred or irritated or distracted, yes distracted by a sheet of paper which I had intended as flyleaf, a piece of manufactured paper with leaves, completely out of character with the rest of the pages, and to fresh eyes completely, um, extra, completely extraneous. What was that for!? they wanted to know

Indeed. It was as it turned out one of those pleased as punchlines, standing in first, as inception and then, as underpinning because I had not, did not, trust the piece even in its final shape to hold itself up, did not believe it was bearing its own weight.

In the truest sense then that remnant of paper was just that, a vestige and now completely unnecessary, but as is sometimes the way of seeing, I hadn’t.

of house and home

September 14, 2015 § 4 Comments

september 14 2015 valley fire

I’m not accustomed anymore to being the one alone at home banging around in the quiet from this to that as if I have nothing to do, or in fact because I’m not, not so much motivated as, interested in doing any of the many things I must, I am disquieted, ha. At first I was pointing at I’m out of practice, but in fact it’s the disquiet, it’s the riffle of the strand which connects us all for better and for worse of those who are losing their houses, their homes their quiet, which reminds me of that essential


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