poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
Glass House
There’s an upside-down house
in the pond outside the cafe.
A squad of geese in tight formation
fly over (under?) it then
disappear beyond leafless trees.
The glass-smooth pond waits
for the return of its winged tenants.
Spring has called them north,
back across the imaginary border
recognized only by us,
discomfited as we are
by the idea of freedom.
/ / /
15 March 2025
Ruckersville VA
Turns Out I’m Not Famous
I’m waiting to talk to another musician,
here at the lowest level of radio.
How many times have I done this?
Two thousand? Three thousand?
I used to think I’d be on the other end,
part of some arena-filling band
that all the DJs wanted to talk to.
It hasn’t worked out that way,
and other than the blues guys
who were rediscovered
by eager white record collectors,
not that many musicians start
a successful career in their 50s.
I’m more of the eager white type
than the neglected blues legend type,
so I guess I’ll keep my day job,
waiting here for another interview
with another rock musician.
/ / /
12 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
Vultures
You can’t leave your house without seeing a vulture.
That’s not even a metaphor, just how it is.
And why not? Vultures eat dead things, decaying things.
Where better to fly than over the United States?
Today at a vigil for Palestine we talked about whether,
in 50 years, this era would be seen as a watershed moment
in the rush toward Gilead, or whether the slow enshittification
of everything would continue, with the goalposts of the illusion
of security moved a little more each year, but never enough
for Americans as a whole to actually, you know, do anything.
There are still shows on TV, there’s still food at the supermarket.
That seems to be all most people need to pretend it’s all OK.
In some cultures vultures represent rebirth.
I know if I looked out my window right now, I’d see one.
Eventually even the black holes will fade.
The universe will die in ice.
What unimagined harbinger
might watch from outside the darkness?
/ / /
3 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
scenes from a Sunday stroll
an old man hunches over
the engine of his minivan
a young woman with two kids
walks slowly toward the park
a bluebird bursts from a bare tree
strafes the grass, disappears
sunspots on the rocks
at the bottom of a slow creek
the sound of the vulture’s wings
reaches us before the sight
it smells slightly of old pine
at the end of the wooded trail
a slim volume in Polish next to
airport reads in the free library
someone changes a bicycle tire
on the front stoop of their house
a hooded figure in a parka
trudges up a slight incline
a person loads their van
with clear plastic boxes of clothing
Herman Melville’s head
peeks above our mailbox
a greeting from our cat
as we come in the front door
/ / /
2 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
the eighties
we listened to Pink Floyd & Rush
Genesis & Yes & King Crimson
Marillion & a-ha & Depeche Mode
we watched Monty Python
& Robin Williams & Red Dwarf
& Big Trouble In Little China
we ordered pizza
bought snacks at Wegmans
stopped at Perkins in the wee hours
we read Watchmen & The Dark Knight Returns
The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
The Chronicles Of Amber & Tolkien
we played in the marching band
we played in the wind ensemble
we (some of us) played in a rock band
we planned to go to college
we planned to never get married
we couldn’t imagine having kids
we’re not all around anymore
most of us are parents now
most of the rest of it is the same
/ / /
28 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
ambient guitar music for feline escape artists
this morning the cat got out
this afternoon I found him
a guitar winds its way
through the bedroom
the cat sleeps through it
/ / /
27 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
last words before sleep
a fake ocean for company
windows open, warm night
/ / /
26 February 2025
Leave a CommentCircle Pit
We’re packed into L’Anti Bar
while Crachat slams into their last song.
They’re wild, ferocious, loud, glorious.
A room full of hometown fans
jump and smash and sing along.
Then it’s over. During the break
two locals talk to me in English.
They want to know why I’m here
in Québec for a punk show.
They recommend bands and a cool bar
for the after-party, not knowing
I’ll be in bed as soon as the next band is done.
Stephanie and I get closer to the stage.
It’s time for Taxi Girls, the reason we added
hours of extra driving to an already long trip.
They rip into the first song,
leave claw marks on the crowd.
Stephanie weaves even closer,
phone camera as talisman.
I hold our coats, sleeves stuffed with
festival t-shirts, keffiyehs, our hats.
The band starts “The Lion’s Share.”
We belt out the words. I play air guitar
under the coats. Nerd to the core.
After the show we chat with the band,
buy records, get them signed,
walk to our rented apartment
through the frigid night,
slowing down to photograph
queer anarchist graffiti
because we’re queer anarchists.
La musique punk est
le langage universel
de la révolution.
21 February 2025
Québec
Exploration
The music of an oud
dances across the room
as we lie in bed together
at the end of a full day.
We started with tea
in a cafe near the hotel,
then visited an artist friend,
a record store,
and a trans bookstore.
A typical day for us,
no matter where we are.
We followed the St. Lawrence
from Montreal to Québec,
then ate ramen
in a restaurant where the staff
spoke Fraponaise.
Tomorrow it’ll be more records
and books and anarchist shops,
then a punk show at night,
later than we’re usually awake.
The joy of exploring new places
is magnified by doing it with you.
Two brains and two hearts
combining to see and feel more
than either could alone.
/ / /
20 February 2025
Québec
The Blizzard Of ’25
George, our server, said
the city hasn’t seen this much snow
since the 1800s.
We’d taken a winding track
through narrow neighborhood streets
made even more impassable
by six-foot drifts on each side.
Buried sidewalks meant the shreds of street
were filled with people,
stumbling and slipping on the way home.
From inside the Syrian restaurant
it all seemed like a distant memory
as we sipped cilantro mocktails
and sliced into fried cheese dumplings
with a tomato and quince jam.
The trouble with travel, I always find,
is the having to go back, just when
you were imagining you wouldn’t.
/ / /
18 February 2025
Montreal
Elephant
We eat vegetable tikka and baija,
talking about TV shows,
prog rock performances,
role-playing games.
We see the elephant in the room.
Eventually we walk over to look at it.
It sits there, quietly taking up space,
breathing in more oxygen than we do,
subtly coloring the air with its smell.
The elephant comes for all of us in time.
When we see it approach,
the most we can do is to find those we love,
pull them close, share a laugh in a cold wind.
/ / /
17 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Between
Sitting in a coffee shop
that used to be a Chevy dealership
it occurs to me that it’s been 17 years
since I lived in this city.
Where the hell have I been?
The Bop Shop is gone from the Village Gate.
Most of the stores and restaurants I knew?
They’re gone, too.
There’s a pride flag on our old house,
so that’s nice.
I doubt my sons would even recognize it.
This is their hometown in the way Lenox is mine.
It’s where they were born, but not
where they grew up.
Today I bought some clothes
with the name of my high school.
The team name has changed.
I have changed.
I’m trying to reconnect with this part of my past.
So many terrible things happened here.
But it’s where I’m from.
I want to be from somewhere.
I want there to be places where my feet
are on familiar ground.
I’ve tried to manufacture one for decades
based on five golden years.
I’ve tried to suppress another based on
seven years of abuse and depression.
My sister has a hometown.
My kids have one, too.
I’m floating out in the space between,
looking for a place to land.
/ / /
16 February 2025
Rochester, NY
Let Me Come In And Talk To You About Dire Straits
Dan Bern said he was the Messiah.
Dire Straits said if two men say
they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong.
As far as I know, I’m not who you’re waiting for.
But come in anyway and have a cup of tea.
Life is both long and short,
and just when you’re tired as fuck of the whole thing,
you get a glimpse of the alternative
and cling to the now like a barnacle
on the hull of a ship.
I used to sail when I was a kid.
Now watching a movie set on a boat
makes me seasick. We change, at least a little.
If I ever get to London,
I’ll climb on a box at Speakers’ Corner
and proclaim myself the Lord
just to see what happens next.
Eventually somebody might be right.
Ah, there’s the kettle.
/ / /
13 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Confronting A Difficult Truth In Middle-Age
I’m the kind of person
who wears turtlenecks
unironically.
/ / /
12 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Quantum Entanglement
We’re all trying to step
off the merry-go-round,
but we’re strapped to the horses,
whose grins are maniacal,
whose hooves never quite
touch the ground,
while the calliope plays
on and on and on.
/ / /
11 February 2025
Charlottesville VA