About

Locking eyes with a perched crow is a transference of bird’s-eye-view, the binocular reconciling of separate frames in one image, side...

Bandaids are my tales of chaos on playgrounds, the dermal terrain of nicks and scratches donned in battle with objects I collide, a...

The bridge tower vaults and church spire hangs under the day moon conversing on altitude with steel-boned views bridge cables and cross...

Disappearances happen before your eyes. The pupils are not apertures or ghost containment units. Even the sun cannot see oxygen eaten up...

I close my eyes at the golden hour, smell salt sweet pine I become quicksilver sea shapes and the umber of inter-tide, I am the kelp...

When I passed the lemonade stand, I passed my childhood, late August on the sidewalk, next to the church with humble interior walls,...

Hands in motion smudge surfaces unforgiving of polish We groove and light life’s glass of shifting images with our living fingerprints...

Somehow a patch of sunflowers bloomed from the street corner — a concrete wedge of dog waste baggies, trash from the cannabis shop and...

Tendrils reclaim a wall of their own, sun beggars up the chain link locking small climates of beauty in frame. The meadow pops up in...

Our lines connecting points of light orchestrate a puppetry of constellations chalking our wish trajectories in the sky Our hopes are a...

A sonnet “A poem by me needs to be a host of images….Each image holds within it the seed of its own destruction” — Dylan Thomas* The...

sky-gathered water sculpts overhead leaves in spoons your face with refraction impasto and you are the unwitting subject in the art of...

Memory is a basement carpeted in orange and brown, electronics warm, vinyl cords in rainbow of 7 colours 7 notes in analog polyphony...

Becoming a robot is trading out each rogue bleeding heart, until it is mechanized with valves and fittings too tight for art or for...

Next to your bed I breathe the salt of the earth in your hair the salt of the sun in your eye the salt of the sea of your night In my...

Standard-issue funeral option tombstones are concrete slabs like ashes in a cardboard box, aggregate mixtures of concrete sprawl, a...

Free verse Why do we share our art but for the company of like minds through words that compass our awe, unlock human glimpses, calloused...

Narrative free verse on imaginative self-creation The stained patch on my arm is a cipher where the Author left a clue, a grafted map of...

You can tell I’m a magpie by the pieces I carry: the magpie, a collector, a good-luck bird, full of words, hiding in patterns round...

Ghazal after The Cure’s Disintegration by Jessica Lee McMillan Plainsong broadcasts through stained glass, splinters color on my pictures...