fall (the scent of summer

there is dust on the typewriter,
scattered letters & no coherent
words, the dog lays a little to the
left & outside the sun speaks to
fallen leaves, to say as much
as a decent goodbye, frost &
bugs that live in the bark of
a half fallen tree cling to the last
scent of summer, a spider crawls
down the street on two legs & as
the rain begins to fall, windows
leave marks on the floor & a carton
of milk stands two weeks old


phone calls & dial tones

listen with a muted ear,
tone-deaf, but ready to learn,
the call comes in, answer &
wait… this is a recorded message,
please hang up and dial again

reading into stories

outside the inscription, scattered pieces,
a lost mark, a bruise on the right hand side,
some disagree, others don’t,
though when they walk into a room,
lamp shades talk about dust
& a scratch on the floor remembers the feel of skin,
but as a leaf runs across the street, yellow
appears & we know this,
a choice between nights that folds sheets
of rain into paper & a gust of wind that blows
cool air under our tongues &
the feel of each strand of hair

small pieces

one day, a box of small pieces found another box of larger pieces, the box itself was utterly indifferent, but then again when it rains the box gets wet and find it self feeling a little droopy, so as the pieces began to mingle, a funny thing began to happen, one piece connected with another and as this occurred they began to build upon themselves, building elaborate things, but nothing so elaborate as the nothingness on the other side of the table

a history of dowloads

over time, posts dissipate into the white space
created by the blinking cursor, the full range of motion
in the dexterity of letters and numbers, the refreshed page
carries the load no more, it’s no wonder the open new tab of thought
closed down before the process was complete,
so much for the URL and the back to home,
the search of indefinite terms of the bookmarked & ragged edges
in the history of downloads

untitled waves

the coast arrives over dunes, water sinks into sand, across in waves that touch the edge of skin, a crab moves underwater & dissipates, feet leave & reappear, wading out into the taste of salt, a communion of currents & trees that bend towards shallow water

second floor

the apartment fills with heavy air, the fan
holds still, inside the walls dust converses
over moisture, duct work & the utility of housing,
there, inside the cupboard a cat remembers how
to get it, but there is safety in a ladle, this little spec,
this fluff of old & warn our carpets breaths within,
something of a rabbit & last nights drink, phone calls
& a table cluttered with yesterdays newspapers,
but there is the deck, half rotten and too wet,
no sense in the cob webs, but strange bugs call it home,
for a while, then again, birds, pavement parking lots
& old socks observe the shadows, in snores people
call, but here, once more, look, maybe the sound
of passing a cough at night