construction 8-2



            no one could survive in half-moon country

            without being disfigured by its beauty


            debussy pleases you – you are drawn

            to the waves in his music


            yesterday walking by the neighbor’ open window,

            a piano played (richard) strauss


            they lie vertical in air, miles above the ground

            to hammer in the white stones


            the road to their house is like blood

            soft dirt, this time of late summer


            there are deep wrinkles

            in those mountains near


            you play prokofiev inside

            as children play tag outside


            a morning street – smells lilac & dwarf pine,

            looks lavender & burnt lime


            she says she works

            for the ministry of beauty



beverly lives in vestments & delivers

the persimmon word to cloudy people


jo(ann) is marooned

in the island of los angeles


rose lives beneath her personal mountains

that are beneath the greened sea


colleen wakes

and the valley wakes, too


in an earthbox, jessie keeps her voice

and in an air box, her thoughts & in a firebox, her hearts


karyn’ hair is sweet ropes

binded by the historical rings


(and) now she is gone, anne marie –

who has sailed for maine in a sluggish car


journal .. marta impresses her life in one,

day by day .. in september she drew trees ..


fionna teaches

the art of polishing air


pearl teaches

the art of preserving icons



            is there no defense against

            the theology of spring(?)


            fire off along the road but only a few will stop

            to see the work of a meso-american god unfold


            the fisher king’ coma expires ..

            charity returns


            the dog next door looks at the world

            thru its huge eyes & gathers sorrow


            was it 1963 that a too human president

           became mythic(?)


            the person in that pretty box

            only used to be friend larry


            jeff .. he still carries the spear

            and the shields but the heavenly wars are over


            is not is true – when driving

            thru the mojave the road turns rubied red(?)


            muffled morning – man/motorcycle

            muscle mainstreet


            now billows poached

            with im impossible qualities, sail(eth) west ..


CHECK THIS OUT >>> an audio reading of a poem: