I will this life
to a blankness
wild and alive
as albino tiger skin.
And so poetry is
but poor practice:
Words hunt
and fornicate
on the stillest
winter ground.
Light alone etched proof
I ever was: Cash in
the house and leave little
but photos of me–things
I didn’t even do!
No time to learn poetry
shines neither bold nor
rich as leather strung
in grizzly teeth.
As if, with no knowledge
of automobiles, we stand
outside a hardware store
window, staring
at the tool display
when a ’59 Caddy sails
across the glass.
Thus, my greatest poems
in order, have been:
“Chrome Trim”
“Taillight”
“Fin”
Chrome Press 