A Cutting Edge Paradox

Mr. Groen maintained a modest but pleasant yard.Saturdays in season he cut the grass with a pushmower, pruned roses, fertilized, spread compost.Martha Groen watered the beds full of crimsongeraniums, purple peonies, tulips, daisies, and such that fancied her seasonal gardening moods. But back to back dry nasty winters followed by suns so hot the weathermanContinue reading “A Cutting Edge Paradox”

Inflation

a simple moon once worth two bits now a bucket of silver dollars won’t buy a room with a hotplate view of the polluted lake. when all universe was still local we slept in the sky now moving stairs carry off the awful. the moon we have lights a dark gold daylily closed the mopeContinue reading “Inflation”

A Fourth of a Poem

All around us, the plants whisper in dry brittle voices, “water us, water us.” Sotto voce, there is no water, and what falls is not wet or gentle, but drops of chthonic fireworks, urban, rural, coastal infernos. The plants dig and pray to Hades, and cooler there than here in this air.

Weather Retort

Day One: A trance of rain, ear churn momute. Day Two: Slide high noontide, sundersthorms plate. Day Three: Moistly scattered sneers and a few frizzles. Day Four: Chants of wrinkles, dartly cloudy and chowdery. Day Five: Humility Poor Boy Talls, Barometer IPA 75%. Day Six: Moggy, very low viability. Day Seven: Topical air mass pewContinue reading “Weather Retort”