Sunday, December 31, 2017


Waves are made of the same water rotating tirelessly.
                                                          —Cassie Lewis

I used to love Hal-
loween. Today,
this one is somber,
at the end of a
near catastrophic
October. Some-
how, I rise,
surely more
zombie than
human, in
search of

all the things
that lead to
cash rewards
on every pur-
chase. They
turned my only
remaining bank
into a cafĂ©. It’s
still a bank, but
it’s wearing
a chainstore
a pet can
change its
world and

Grace here = cash.

        —Cassie Lewis

Thursday, December 21, 2017


ocean static
kite and salt
walk directly
into the wave

if sex
were you and i
hands clenched
with whitecap

the thrill
of the crest
to our

Wednesday, December 20, 2017


we dry
our fingers

the moon pulls
our shadows
into the mist

Friday, December 15, 2017


The Burden of Living Off the Graciousness of Others

I really enjoy it when, say, a
generic brand of strawberry soda
has, rather, a distinct cream soda
taste.  And this happens on occasion.
To me, it does….    Anyone else?
The act of engagement. Engaging in
person (that act).  Yet for all of the
days generosity, the beautifully spun
green and gold floating backwards
through the internet, past the new
social blockade and landing here in
my very lap, it is that act I miss the
most.  Nose to nose talk done not by
fingers (which carry about contorted,
flying through the space just in front of
our eyes, if not locked between the pair
of them) but voices the steam from which
we can feel on our cheeks and words that
are spoken with our entire bodies….  My
eyes, your eyes. Eyes that know I and
mine that know you, eyes that have a
history between them, can recall times
such as these. See the both of us in
something of a tight orbit, air quotes,
a three dimensional thumbs-up, a held
but spinning glass of wine, building
suspense, finally tilted so it’s almost
spilled, until we are speaking a decibel
or two louder and our faces flush.  We
seem to care, as if we’ve each a bit of
something at stake, a small piece of
you and a small piece of me which we
offer the other or carefully take.  We’ll
talk the afternoon away, just like we
used to, of course, through a wonderful
evening we’ll chatter away. It’s so lovely
to see you, perhaps you could stay? Let’s
say for dinner? Or even the night? It has
been forever, there’s so much to say.
Oh, please say you’ll do so, I find my
self texting while saying so loud that I
find myself hearing my very own voice. I
look up embarrassed then back at the key-
board before reminiscing, caught hung
on a moment, completely carried away.

Tuesday, December 05, 2017


Sure there are eucalypts but they seem as out of place as we do.
                                                                      —Cassie Lewis 
I have joined
the leagues:
I am grooming
at the public
library.  I am,
to be precise,
clipping my finger-
nails into a can
of trash near the
poetry section.
But this act
definitely falls
easily under the
category of The
Leagues Who
Groom Them-
selves at the
Public Library.
Next thing you
know, I’ll be tak-
ing a sponge bath
in stall number two
on floor one – in
the only public
restroom at the
public library.
When I last used
to come regularly
to the main library –
to browse the poetry
section, no less –
I would often refer
to the men’s room
as the homeless
showers.  The next
thing I know....

Sunday, December 03, 2017


Achizm #3

     It’s been days since I opened the book
     my face is watching.

                                               —Cassie Lewis

always peeking

down the wrong
hedgerow /
at the most