There are hospitals where hands are a type of medicine I smooth the tremulous lines along your temples with my palm In these cellular rooms, bodies are worshipped in religions of disrepair We burden our mouths to carry more than language I align your tremulous temples in the rooms of my palm There are hospitals …
Lunch Hour
I sat at the statue on the corner waiting for him. For at least two weeks I've practiced being present and focusing on my breath. For those 10 minutes I breathed with presence and Not Thinking so nicely it would have been okay if he didn't show up. But I wanted to be present. I …
White Van, Shattered Mirror
I was hit by a van this morning. My first day back at work after taking half of my birthday week off, and this happens. At the intersection, I waited for a huge, slow moving blue bus to lumber to the corner and do a meditative right turn. The light changed as the bus was …
Dreams; Tarot Paintings of the Subconscious
Airport, Alone -- Jcagney the frayed petal of his text message krinkles in my palm: I caught the wrong flight to los angeles now we’re separated this leg of our journey. I stand in the lobby of the airport, lonesome staring at the words as if they might change while being read. …
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Stand By Your Song
My golden-throated friend Dorian Spencer has produced a gorgeous song that's probably the best response to TM I've heard to date.
Memorial Lighthouse — Trinidad, Ca.
Memorial Lighthouse, Trinidad Civic Club, Trinidad, Ca. -- JCagney Bone spur of the lighthouse Excavated from the hillside By diligent shovels of weather Stands purified under the administration Of the sun; overseer to an ocean Of scales flashing white and green. An old man sits at a bench shepherding the wet painting of …
Hold The Phone
Hold the Phone - Jcagney There used to be one in every house with its own end table or altar. ours was a wire stand crammed with phone books-- the first internet. if you remembered to clean it you'd wipe it down like a baby – its umbilical cord would braid itself over all the stories …
The After Life… with God
After Life with God - Jcagney The other side of the white light is a stage light. God’s monologue subsides as the last breath eases from my chest. Relatives gone on before now sit in audience cheering my entrance. God’s hair is a tsunami shadowing a beach, cresting over remarkable brown eyes. He’s in …
Alaska Stories: Cathedral
Cathedral Keeping monks hours, I arise at midnight to a false dawn where the sun pauses at the horizon and creeps sideways like a crab. Our crew chief materializes at the door salmon roe dripping from his palms. Midair, he draws the sign of the dollar. Then, I am Lazarus summoned and …
What About Bob?
Who was it said Poems are never finished, they're just abandoned? I begin writing a poem after I assume some understanding about or appreciation over what I've just seen, experienced or remembered. Sometimes the poem comes out in one chunk and I let it rest for a while, then go back and tidy it up: Remove, add, clarify. Sometimes …
