Sinking through the fog
Bog of a swamp
In a diving helmet
Humidity 100%
So thick I sink
Like a fishhook
Flying droplets splash
Five feet off the ground
It’s warm and wet
Dank air on my breath
Traversing the mist
Like the blank spots
On a map
Hot wind runs moist
Like sweat they
Bead and run
Muggy mossy
Plant shocked blacktop
Sickeningly sweet
Thunderstruck scent
Leaking from rough seas
In the sky
Like tumbling clouds
Swelling up
Falling down

Rockler Pen from Twenty-Ten


Picked out some
White crystal laced
With sparse veins of
Red and blue ore,

Bleeding into indigoes.
Shiny aluminum bearings

Graft it together;
Pins and internals
And clips and

Ores mix as the shell
Armors the ink within;

A cartridge of
Black blank canvas
Loaded in.



I don’t know.
Go ahead.”

These are some
of the things
you’ve said.
Cutie pie.

Can’t make up
your mind.
But it’s fine
that you’re shy.

You’re timid,
and guarded,
and so strong.
Downright enviable

how protected by
yourself you are.
How overwhelmed
I am to know

that your guard
goes down for me.
Every neutral noise
and default expression

speaks straight
of your wonder.
A mystery carefully
warded, that is you

and yourself you
hide from view.
But again, making
me fluttery

with your exposure.
Mousy until displayed
to show off your
unbashful splendor.

What is protected
but your cornucopia
of unparalleled



Fuse snap
Surge cracks
In a sleek and
Strong frame

Catch prey
And loose beaks
The weak grey

On the chain
Like heroes
Who slayed
Witch’s deign

With arms
Hammered and
Ripped by in

Sheared off
And unbuttoned
Towards quarry

Each dust lane
Pumps from a
Precision cruxed
Barrel main

Are tomahawks
Circling and bombing
From a brave flintlock