sorry that i haven't updated this in a bit,
new book is coming out soon and i have been hectic
working on that.

the stone has only one
wish and it is to cough,
like men. he wishes that
once in his long overdrawn
and particularly sedentary
existence that there would
be a chance that he could
pause
and pretend to have to catch his breath.

nothing shakes the lungs harder
than sleep
or a life that feels
full of it.

i have never been cautious.
my mouth opens often and
allows it to become a home
for the flies.

i feel as if i have
broken a dish. the tears
won't start but when i get
this way, or
'this way'
it's like i have slipped
and the porcelain
has cut my inner heel.
whatever do i care?
i can make my bed in the side yard
and worship among the plum trees.
it is hard,
this love,
it is hard for me
not to fall asleep
face down in the grave.