She had never been a good wife staying out till all hours coming home wet and wild with flesh stuck between her teeth She had fallen for his best lines reeled him in, netted a husband After marriage she dropped the camouflage became a bit of a disappointment When she joined the band she found her place forgot for awhile who she was rattling spoons over her scales and singing of shipwrecked loves She stopped looking at other men remained mute upon the rocks traded her shell bras for ones of lace sailors watching still ran aground Perhaps she needs to try again, harder loving words are ba

Two dogs, one large as Jupiter, the other small as Mercury, dance gravitationally round a star we call the Now. As solar winds whip past their fur, they gambol through the galaxy, glee plain as tongues and tail-wags, sound of woofs, and breaths of wow. Immersed within the quantum whir, they move with such agility, they make a light beam look earthbound, and teach with every bow how, lost in the rays of timeless play, to romp and revel in today.

The world that absorbed much of his consciousness was far beyond her and always had been. A world and a language that meant nothing to her whatsoever. Muons, neutrinos, quantum fields, Hilbert spaces, the elusive quark with its fingerprint on near everything. Incomprehensible as a convoluted forest delineating a reality she never chose to visit. Yet when it came to the world of the everyday, the language of weather and gossip, of politics and literature, music and art and morality, the language of friends and lovers, they always spoke the same. Appeared in Analog

Death hangs on the poles at our bank. A Chinese fishing net sinks down with baits to lure into the fate. Doom lurks between the darkness and the blue. Joys dry in the breathless net at dawn. As care snoozes, snare catches. Chinese fishing nets hanging on poles can be seen at river banks of Kerala. These nets are lowered and laid at the bottom of the river at night, and lifted up with fish in the morning.

The sea loathes the iron men, seeking to rust his replicas sunken in shore, marking his years. The steadfast men a breakwater, each age a serial-number branded at the nape.

battered hands dig ragged graves, brows furrow in loss, chests heave in consternation Father Time is lowered into the open earth, a cut noose around his neck part of his long white beard singed the rebels in this town make the laws of reality their business say, from now on things are going to be on our watch they caught the old wizard cowering in the nighttime in fear but unwilling to expedite clarity and as the final patch of earth is scraped over time’s slot day and night combine and no one dares sleep again

When the music is dead The world is brazenly cheeky Everywhere only a dead emptiness Nothing counts on them Madness will amaze the world Madness will amaze me It does not mean that it is bad It does not mean that it is bad Shows only with Chocolate Downfall Creation Democration Water everywhere Do you see the fish sinking? No air Do you see the bird swimming? Ash is waving Do you see the king is burning? Do you see the end? Do you see the end?

You were so small when I met you, the size of the tip of my little finger, with an almost inaudible squeak to match. When she opened the shoebox you were in, I couldn’t look at you for a moment; I couldn’t believe how tiny you really were, your tail as thin and white as a short strip of dental floss. I held you in the palm of my hand as my sister told the story, weighing almost nothing as she said that they’d torn down a shed and found you curled up alone in the hollow of a cinderblock. She brought you to me because with everything you needed, I was the only one who could care for you. Yo

O Land of Spells! O Land of the Over and Undone, Of Bodies turned to Dust one- thousand time s! O Land of Mirrors! O Land of Rolling Sand Unending! O Land of the Stubborn Cactus, arms raised, praise in spite of heat, O Land of Sun Unforgiving! You curl and unravel in a belonging repentant at the feet of Pancho Villa: Eagle with two beginnings and no space for an end. a snake owned to His chest, with venom that pacifies Dehydration’s rude mouth He expanses the horizon and decides alone the shape of salvation and to whom it belongs. Coiled in the

for her 60yh birthday she did not take a cruise down to Jamaica or a shopping spree to Paris for her 60th birthday she wanted something more practical and s he went down to Bull City Bikes and picked out a brand new Harley to cruise on into her golden years with the wind at her back and her troubles far behind.