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 …
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 …
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 …
The Secret: I Can’t Write Right Handed
Full of optimism and hope, I submitted some poems to a literary magazine. Long before deadline! Hot damn, I accomplished something! Hot damn, these are good poems!! Then I get an email from the editor from the mag saying: I just wanted to send you a quick note because, after logging in all of …
Alaska Stories — Land Shark (formerly Crazy)
When I can't write, I become like a badger and start digging around. Maybe there's something in the past I can revisit/improve since I can't think of anything new. To me, that counts as exercise. Literary calisthenics. Years ago, I worked on a fishing processor in Alaska. Instead of taking photographs, I wrote a lot. …
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Ghost Ride The Party
Jimmy (not pictured) sent me this email: Party After Art&Soul Saturday. At my spot, 8pm. Potluck is cool. Incidentally, where you been??? I'm sorry, that's inerect language. I shoulda said " where you been ...at! Ah knows mah Anglish purty damn good. I called him during a break at work. The last time I spoke to and saw …
The Dirty Rat 