I once saw a hypnotist hand
empty eye-glass frames to hypnotized students.
He said they would see through clothes. And they did,
proving Errol Morris’s believing is seeing.
Not seeing is also believing:
what you want to happen – a job, better pay, longer life.
“This is this, and that is that;” my grandson at 3 decided.
Words are wishes to confirm thoughts.
A subject is more than an object. He was
A real child
in grandmother’s kitchen, licking the spoon,
taking the cake for granted.
Poetryan unruly breeze tugs and teases golden braids when the sun flowers and her daughters laugh and nod meadows dance with mockingbirds ~Fredericksburg, Virginia
PoetryMy dreams are littered with the echos, the flaming shards of iron that flew from the feverish hammer and anvil of your hands rough and dark like leathery tobacco; Your rock salt…
PoetryIn the woods when the summer gives out a few leaves linger above the cyclone yellow dog, then, deer here. Above a ridge – an old stone foundation, and not even heard…
PoetryBless the turnstile too tight for your young hands to push past, the three silver arms I bumped with my hip that we shot through together like two sunflower seeds spat through…