Archives for posts with tag: poetry

Tell me, dark bellied
dew lover, Drosophila

how you emerge each
summer from the green folds of
cauliflower stems.

Do you nest in strings
of green beans, or hitch rides in
on fuzzy peach skins?

Have you learned the art
of spontaneous auto-
generation? Or,


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I watched the sky bloom
this dawn; hazy pinks melted
from hazy purples

to dove greys and blues.
And all the while, two clouds swam
in unison through

the hazy stillness.
Till they faded, modest before
this bold meddler in

the sex lives of clouds.

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you wrote, and i thought
how nice it would be to see
you again. until…
i remembered how
i could never quite inhale
your scent and like it.

pheromonal foil

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Late, I am too late
to Sunday’s haiku party.
Belatedly late.

io sono sola,
she said, and i knew only
too well what she meant

I’m wondering what
Phyllis Schlafly thinks about
a term like chick-lit.

Saccharine nonsense?
Or, secret guilty pleasure?
Read late at night, hair/

passions loose, dreams of
subversive trysts and toweled
boys in cabanas…?

Well-behaved children,
perched, mindful attentive pups.
What ruckus within?

Amelia Street.
Six forty-seven am.
Leash in hand, Tuesday.

Blooms leaden, heavy
with dew of yesterday’s storm;
soggy, petal piles.

I think of our last
autumn together, eggplant
cabbages with mauve

centres in planters
on the sidewalk, noticing
we no longer held

hands as we passed by.
August now, but the air hangs
with that same rotting

slowness as though it
were fall, as though the end of
another season.

I don’t remember
when I stopped loving you, when
I ever loved you.

sudoku challenge
rearrange, arrange again
nine by nine, one to

nine. i fill you in
like weighing change on the wind,
oh, sudoku life.

add up: measure up
each number her own place in
line. till snap! to grid!

one to a column,
one to a row. it’s bad luck
to fill the last square.