Gull on Asphalt

Gull on Asphalt
it started with a crack of light, 
a wet push into the cold, and the sky—always the sky— 
waiting to swallow you whole.
you learned fast. 

claws on stone,
wings slicing the wind like knives.
you laughed at gravity,
but sickness hit like a sudden storm,
a sharp crack in the clear sky,
leaving you stunned, spiraling,
ground rushing up too fast to fight. 

one day the wind felt heavier, 
the horizon farther.
and then—this. 

blood on the pavement, 
feathers bent wrong, 
the sky doesn’t even care.

Portland, Maine

Dwayne’s Time Out Chair

Some cheap plastic piece of crap
sitting in the weeds,
leaning against a wall
that hasn’t seen a fresh coat in twenty years.

Dwayne—whoever the hell he is—
probably punched a hole in the drywall,
kicked the dog,
yelled at the neighbors for parking too close.
they stuck him out here
to sweat it out.

but now the chair’s alone,
just like the rest of us.

Geometry of Tension

Stretched skin against the abyssal black,
stitched by unseen hands,
tensions hum in silence,

holding stories of wind and weight.

The light grazes its surface,
a quilt of impermanence,
bound in fragility,
defiant against the void.

Portsmouth, New Hampshire

Radios

The radios sit, Bakelite husks,
Colors dulled by decades of light—
Red, green, blue, once vivid enough
To brighten rooms that are empty now.

Time hums inside them still,
The slow, indifferent tick of hands
Marking minutes that carried news,
Ballroom songs, the war’s end.

Music spilled out in tidy portions,
Tuned to the shape of ordinary lives.
Now, they gather dust on shelves,
Perfect and mute, outliving us all.

Waltham, Massachusetts

Edges of Night

The slats—
angled ribs
against the night,

light drips through
like water slipping
between fingers.

Inside—
a chair, red,
a gesture of waiting.

Above it all,
the building listens,
holding its breath.

Brookline, Massachusetts

What Remains

The awning stretches forward,
thin steel bones,
holding the weight of absence.
A cracked line of pavement,
its edges curling upward,
a slow retreat
from purpose.

Weeds twist
between fractures,
their stubborn green
cutting through the gray,
a quiet defiance
unnoticed,
persistent.

The sky folds low,
soft with clouds—
no sun,
only a dim light
slipping across the surface,
settling into shadow.

What was here
is no longer here,
yet the space remembers,
waiting,
its silence
a language we
cannot yet speak.

Mount Laurel, New Jersey

Santa in the Corner

Standing steady above the bar,
A red glow against the geometry of walls,
Illuminated through his plastic skin,
Abiding warmth in the darkest nights.

Santa, unswerved amid chaos,
Beckons the timeless mirror of imagination,
Reflecting anticipation,
Bestowing rewards for those

Who sustain unwavering belief in the spirit of hope,
His gaze fixed on it all down below,
An emblem of steadfast persistence when
The season shifts from festivity to memory.

Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts

November 29, 2023 – 4:45 PM

The dark noise of longing,
this opaque path,
prickly thickets of desire.

Stolen Slippers

Footloose,
Untethered,
Stolen.

Or if you believe such things,
Simply slipping through
Invisible portals,
Vanishing without warning.

Worn out steps of dancing feet.
Previously confident ,
Across the path of practice,
Passages of musical time
Indefinitely suspended.

Once loved evidence of  
Masterful pointes and whirling pirouettes,
Retired by inevitable exhaustion.

Hiding in plain sight,
Consumed by the greengrass cloak
Of enigmatic loss,
This mystery of misplacement
Happens to us all.

Like the consequence of stolen moments,
Disrupting the order of things,
It produces a void,
And a haunted memory of things
That can never be replaced.

Dead Whale – July 1, 2023

Saturday
on the southern side of the island,  
just past Leviathan Cottage, 
a dead minke whale washed ashore. 

Word traveled fast;
a steady stream of locals
stopping to gaze,
a sense of awe
permeating the landscape
of seagrass and rocks.

The shape and size,  
contours and textures
of the corpse, 
its briny scent 
not yet replaced by decomposition, 
and especially 
the grand stillness 
of this once living creature, 
emanates a peaceful spirit.

Beached in the bardo state
before body parts disconnect
and dignity surrenders to putrefaction,
there remains
in this plangent reverence
a reminder of what awaits us all,
and the hope
that we too
have lived in grace.