Been a bit since I posted a poem; the whirl of the web, and the grayness of what is and is not “publishing”, leaves me a little stuck. To post or not to post, that has often been the question (plus, of course, the ever-present fear that it’s not good enough).

But 2013, I’ve decided (and keep reminding), is the year of Doing Stuff. So: projects in my brain are poised to become projects in the real world (some to appear here, hint hint). And so, as a small testament to making and doing, here’s a new(ish) poem.

yelling from shore

the inside lock is picked. the dead bolt busted clean through the jamb. nothing for it. vermin now. later: ivy. the winter river is high. columbia. willamette. the evening train sounds its name proudly upon the trestle. below, a darker train. submerged, it returns bathed in foreign tones. it says: our structures are imagined. our architectures: all air. which city is it? burnside divides. yelling from opposite shores we make a new bridge.

PS: I also memorized my first poem! Ever! It’s G.M. Hopkins’ God’s Grandeur. If you know me, make me recite it to you (or, odds are, I’ll forget it).

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