American Ego

We collect stories,
lithographic lies.
Postcards of fairgrounds,
ecstatic faces,
wildernesses of vintage evergreen
conquered without consequence.

Blithe knives,
we see ourselves through shot glasses,
a settler’s drunken dream.

Hair Pipe House

Sun-burnished blinds
sagging
from a sternum string,
make a hair pipe breastplate.

A declaration of worth
for the street.

Red Shadows

I search my neighborhood
for the radicals
who shot back,
blew up
the toothless union hall.

Drum my fingertips
on gingham-curtained kitchens.

Listen,

splintered wood,
soft brick.

Roll rough Yiddish,
like bone dice
against a home’s foundation.

Leave a calling card;
shiny pennies on the tracks.

Snow’s Secrecy

Snow arrives as a ghost,
tiptoes
through your house on a mission.

Lurks,
halfway up alleys,
huddles in doorways,
planning, scheming.

Timberline , Montana

The Rockies speak flotsam:
worn glass, lone marbles.
Sun-bleached
timber, dry as driftwood.

Sagebrush
waves, dust-green leaves,
dreams of bladderwrack’s beauty.

Butte

The…