Tag Archives: Writer Moe

Air

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, … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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We Haiku

the forests curved path your warm breath mixing with mine kiss in dappled light

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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 … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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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, … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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