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Poems

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  • Hotline

    The calls came in around the clock. A nunnery in Nova Scotia with a broken clavichord.

  • Broadcast

    Five blank days of snow,

  • Mass on the Beach

    I’m trying not to wonder if the priest

  • Poem with Ginger in it

    This rough hooked lump, this botched

  • Coattails

    When I was eighteen, I wanted to write a screenplay based on my father’s life: from his birth in poverty, how his family gathered around one scant meal a day of potatoes and onions

  • In Search of Grace

    With slush to ground the Erie trees

  • Anatomy of Late

    It looks like a fox, when it’s sleeping. No, its body

  • The Beginner

    Doesn’t have a clue, sips whiskey in a train

  • walls | uncertain

    one morning

  • Hurdy Gurdy

    Like a grumbler who claims a five year old

  • The Third Visitor

    The Third Visitor understands

  • Mid-March

    If, when I sit here in my study