my feelings, brimming / about to spill onto the floor/ i’ve got no strength, bread or bucket / to sop or mop them anymore/
Category Archives: poetry
worth
i measure my worth
in deer so at ease they’ll eat kale from the garden, less than five meters from my door
by a home-cooked meal eaten together, still hot
in heritage Jimson weed blooms on summer nights
& harvested, unblemished squash on autumn afternoons
in bats sighted overhead at dusk from the stoop
in thriving houseplants, all named and watered
in clean sinks, sheets, floors and birdbaths
by pages read, no matter
by the number of rabbits who see me and then ignore my presence
in folks, walking exhausted, or in rain, who accept my offer, climb into my truck with their groceries or booze for a lift home
in miles walked with the dog, and in patience as he interprets the “news” thoroughly with his nose
in native prairie plants restored, by my hand, New England asters, sweetgrass, have mercy,
in minutes spent on the phone with my son,
my golden boy
in bluebirds who sing on my bedroom windowsill especially on my birthday
in knowing how the Moon will look this evening even before she rises
in poems written by, for or about me
in acorns from the sapling white oak i planted, knowing one day, i won’t be able to count them all
with a plate of at least 6 different kinds of freshly cut fruit
in hummingbirds, monarchs, hummingbirds, monarchs, hummingbirds who visit to feed, rest or cocoon
in vibing unabashedly
to music playing loudly
in the barn, in the yard, in the car
in frogs perched on the back porch light, and toads spotted and avoided on the sidewalk in the dark
in trust placed in me
in Duchenne smiles from friends and strangers, but especially strangers, and in the intense knowing look from babies anywhere, but especially in line at Walmart
by how long i kept the christmas tree – fir, spruce, or pine – drinking and alive, far more so than a dozen long-stemmed red roses
by the crows that come back again and again, recognizing my face, voice and reliable aluminum pail / us, counting on one another
by a batch of perfectly brewed and bottled sweet, iced tea
in spying even one snake, one turtle or one heron all year long
and,
by love,
by love,
by love
and that’s why / for a while,
i will feel worthless
worth less
less worth
less.
“for all your fine washables”
the mundane,
it reminds

Arte Digitora
Arte Digitora, alternatively, arte digitora, artedigitora, #artedigitora
Arte Digitora is art/e that is organically, intentionally or incidentally created, conceptualized or derived from intentional or incidental digital/cellular communication and/or collaboration and hosted primarily – though not always exclusively – in digital space-time.
The art/e primarily consists of digital/cellular communication text content including email correspondence; word-processing documents; text and direct messaging conversation blocks or bubbles; shared photos, images, screenshots, icons/reacts/emojis; shares and links; voice clips/messages; and social media comments — using a variety of digital/cellular applications and platforms; anonymity or identity may be implied, preserved, protected or negotiated.
This art/e is created, conceptualized, utilized or reproduced by one or more participant humans based on singular, multiple, continuing or abandoned digital/cellular communications; it may be fixed i.e., “locked” and immutable, or the art/e can be fluid, altered, edited, deleted, interpreted, archived or restored in its original form or any subsequent altered/edited form by any of the the original communicators or subsequently, by those with access.
Arte Digitora are not NFTs, but NFTs may contain elements of arte digitora.
Any Arte Digitora may be migrated and reproduced in physical space in the form of inspired or derivative 2D or 3D works such as prints, photos, books, sculpture, crafts or objects, or as audio/visual, performance, tactile or projection art.
from Wikipedia:
Art is a diverse range of human activity, and resulting product, that involves creative or imaginative talent expressive of technical proficiency, beauty, emotional power, or conceptual ideas.
from Wiktionary:
- Having to do with digits (fingers or toes); performed with a finger.
- Property of representing values as discrete, often binary, numbers rather than a continuous spectrum.
- Of or relating to computers or the Information Age.
New Me.
And, most of the World,
well, at least, the entire mattering World
came together
for one brilliant night and
even part of the next morning
with a somewhat contemplative,
protracted, very long, somewhat meditative
five ENTIRE minutes squeezed in between
And, it came to pass that there
were nearly 18 continuous hours
of agreed-upon
global activism and change-making
that had not been witnessed for exactly
364.24153644 days, previously
The World’s manifesto:
Whereas, starting tomorrow, January 1
life will be better,
so much better, different, good, great even
Again, they each individually proclaimed:
starting tomorrow, January 1
life will,
might, may, could be better, so much better, different, good, great even
Ahem, that is, to be clear, not your life,
just mine.
new year, new me.
Me. Me. Me.
keep your Sun,
give me the Moon.
(inspired by mckersin: “Just helps that the world’s energy is all in agreement that we doing everything different now”)
The Very Last Zeptosecond of 11:59:59: pm on december 31st
the future ending
and re-beginning
in one, arbitrary moment
her first december there
She can now tell the difference between
Lake-effect
and “real” snow
purely by observation
without having Googled the weather
senses attuning
She becoming corporeal
She can now tell the difference between
wishfulness
and alchemy
purely by existing
without having read leaves of pulp
spirit honing
She becoming ethereal
both, humbly naturalizing to leeward space
time
i stay here, alive,
by the minute, for you
by the hour, for my dog
by the day, for the crows
by the week, for my son
i can’t measure time any longer than a week
these months and years just dis/appeared
in the shallow of “halfway” – an untitled poem by Khalil Gibran
“Or do you need more?”
Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life
and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you nowhere
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time, yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn’t live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you,
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability,
but you are able for you are not half a being.
You are a whole that exists to live a life,
not half a life.
– Khalil Gibran
residuum

this is no time
to evict
spiders,
centipedes,
the occasional, lone
boxelder bug,
dozens of out-of-season ladybird beetles
or
the almost-always odorless stinkbugs
from
our houses
to do so now means certain death, outside
there is a field mouse
in the dormant compost bin
depositing black “rice”
in washed egg shells and pomegranate rinds/
a mole engineers deeply excavated burrows around the foundation (much too close),
mound-builds in the prairie, and
constructs a minefield for toes and ankles in the remnant, dumb lawn/
the grey squirrels shelter in the woods across the snow-covered dirt road
the red squirrel in the barn is insulating with stuffing from the patio cushions/
black walnuts, please mast next year
oak sapling, pray, grow faster/
i will plant a meadow exclusively of sunflower come Spring/
black-eyed juncos,
black-capped chickadees,
bluejays,
woodpeckers,
and cardinals,
but especially,
the juncos
have learned to tolerate,
and expect my winter presence among them, per nemerov’s counsel,
i don’t wear feathers in my cap – or coat/
the remaining turkey and deer
still grieving, post-hunting season
are tentative,
but returning;
i set out stone salt licks and millet, reverently, repentantly, respectfully, for them/
i count the crows each morning
but truer, i count on them
their steady, regal presence
their voices call to me for sardines, kibble, peanuts
i oblige and always will
[can] we all [can] live here
alongside
inside
and outside together, as kin
i don’t speak
but i telepath
that,
and
this:
i am the residuum here

poemo
poem memorandum
poem memo
poemmemo
poememo
pomemo
poemo
poemo: noun / pōɛmō /
a written memo disguised as a poem
a written poem disguised as a memo/memorandum or as “business correspondence“
memo to a particular poet
i am going to bed, now
at 7:08
to lessen the ache
of being awake
this is a poem
this is the business
of us artists
this is “business correspondence”
inform a collaborator
a coworker – if you will
your passwords and processes
before taking those pills
my corazón has nearly bled-out
migrating across my torso, my limbs,
and my crown
settling into my cornflower eyes
bloodshot with or without drops and disguise
the weight of this goddamned red muscle
i’m so fucking heavy-hearted
this cursed organ’s still goin’
my sweetest, singular escape, now aborted
the only thing i can do right, right now
is to sleep
the only thing i can do wrong, right now
is to think
(who should i send this memo to?
– no one, if not, to you)
play possum
i’m fine
nothing’s wrong
i just really love this song
gives me the blues sometimes, is all
a snake, a possum, a doe and fawn
on the roadside killed, again, i saw
i heard the breaking news story
i’m awfully raw, so please ignore me
this world can be so cruel and wicked
of course, my tender heart’s afflicted
my glistened eyes, lump throat, quiver lip
you think they’re for you? well, that’s rich.
all lies, and also, all true.