How can you live with a dog, with its lifespan of ten to fifteen years, and not realize how quickly the clock is ticking?  read

Biking on Bryn Mawr Avenue, clear sky, afternoon sun, I pull over to the curb for the ambulance hurtling my way. But it turns on Clark, and as I pass through the intersection I see the gapers gathered, the body...  read

On my walk this morning I encountered lost things here and there: A glove. A key ring. A hearing aid. Me.  read

If we were zombies I promise you that I would love you for your brain  read

Golfers in the rain with travel mugs of coffee, like this is their job.  read

I come to you, love, like a zombie in your thrall, hungry for your brains.  read

you are here the southern tip of roosevelt island east river easing by to either side beside your wife astride the bikes you rode like phantoms through the hushed streets of queens over the red bridge at 36th ave you...  read

stubbed-out cigarette moldering wet in the sink on the Paris train  read

I can't sit down to write a poem without hearing Garrison Keillor's voice, reading it over my shoulder.  read

The sidewalk trees drop their skirts of dirty snow for a silver-tongued winter rain, exposing a careless mulch of cigarettes butts, not to mention the occasional dog turd and chicken bone. Nothing better to do, trees, than eat, shit, and...  read