Scudding in metal tubes, breathing in recycled breaths. Spinning turnstiles, merry go rounds, bladed pinwheels. My hands cut open by edged receipts, boarding passes, desperate sketches from forlorn children... missed baseball games, concerts, birthdays and... that soup of missed connections, strange coin, the stares of strangers. Uncomfortable fat neighbor spilling over armrest, we're moaning as … Continue reading Air
Tag: Writer Moe
Stay: Audio
So, riffing off Stay, a poem I wrote back in autumn. Curious what you think. I'm trying to work through some things... what love is all about, which is a rather large topic, how do we identify when we're in that state. Is it physical, can you love that which destroys you - is that … Continue reading Stay: Audio
We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised
Boom, then sounds like shattering glass, fragments of glass, plinking sounds carried on the wind. Boom. Agitated, the city, men with guns rummaging around yards, snipers on rooftop, jumbles of green, black, blue. Shooting. Shooting past walls, reason resistance. Men are hunters, men are chaos shooting. Bombing. Shattering glass. Helicopters split the air, float and … Continue reading We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised
Brodsky Complications
d'Artagnan... is restless. Once, he wandered onstage, admired Cyrano's quick blade and cutting wit. Then found a musket ball at Maastricht, and wandered off. Some say mothballed at Wolder, others wandering the New World, mayhap Boston's where he found his feet. Perhaps soon caressing a lover of books. Wondering what she'll whisper when she dances … Continue reading Brodsky Complications
1998
Boy watching a bubble fall, rise, fall. Breathing with it, leaning into it. Lost in a fall, lost, then caught in a rise. Down, up Air out, air in. Breathe out, breathe in. Soap bubble, caught on breath, a life caught in movie frames scattered across the bubble's curve. That other boy, doppelgänger, 31 years … Continue reading 1998
We Haiku
the forests curved path your warm breath mixing with mine kiss in dappled light
I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling
I am contained by spit and bailing wire, the old go-cart knocked together from peach crates, roller skates, an old wooden skate affixed with bent nails to peach-stained slats. Rocking down hills, round hairpin turns, skipping cracks and gaps. Memory. Bailing wire and gum, glue, thoughts of you. Cocksure and unafraid. Rickety with memory, bound by … Continue reading I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling
A Muddy of Colors
There is a dissipating storm slipping over the tips of the Alps. A broken man begging coins in Houston. A potter with shaking fingers, no longer mending in Calcutta. My shadow eluding me in dark Boston alleyways. Your eyes are headlamps, mirrored windows, light flashes behind my eyelids. There is a snake, listless, long, and leering, at … Continue reading A Muddy of Colors
There Is a Thing
To be said, about love. Birthed in the shadow of the rock, a daughter of Tyre thou art my hiding place dozing, salamander curled, nose to tail, fire banked, ready for the warm breath of a lover on newly discovered flesh. … Continue reading There Is a Thing
wander
I hid my lord's story in the darkness of the earth siþþan geara iu - hrusan heolstre biwrah You said Where the horse gone? Where the rider? I hid my face, my lord long gone voyaging Where the giver of treasure? Gone deep and dark, places where - for people like us - some permanence … Continue reading wander
Writer Moe 