Fab Press, 2025
Expanded Edition
daydreaming w/ Bob Arnold
Late October
Kids crowd the stoop
backs to a darkened house
so close to nothing
yet incurious
*
Across the brick facade
a kestrel
races to meet
its shadow
*
Hawk and starling sport
through all this rigging
of blocks and lines
counterweights and arbors
the street
a theater set for storms
*
A chunk of sycamore
adorns the telephone line
branch and trunk long gone
stump a faint impression
just that cylinder
faintly nautical
hung in a crown of air
*
Triple your chances to win
Take it at twenty-to-one
No money down
No faith in desire
*
Cashing out
the bartender croons
If you see me getting smaller
Trobar clus
Closing time
*
Two boys lug
a Samsonite
full of leaves
across the lawn
*
A starling whets
her thorn of beak
and song gives way
to sunlight on concrete
___________________________
Bright Thorn
poems 2000-2026
FSG, 2026
Let Me
Let me tell you, America, this one last thing.
I will never be finished dreaming about you.
I had a lover once. If you could call him that.
I drove to his apartment in a faraway town,
like the lost bear who wandered to our cul-de-sac
that summer smoke from the burning mountain
altered our air. I don’t know what became of her.
I drove to so many apartments in the day.
America, this is really the very last thing.
He’d stocked up, for our weekend together,
on food he knew I would like. Vegetarian
pad Thai, some black-bean-and-sweet-potato chili,
coconut ice cream, a bag of caramel popcorn.
Loads of Malbec. He wanted to make me happy,
but he drank until I would have been a fool
not to be afraid. I’d been drinking plenty, too.
It was too late to drive myself anywhere safe.
I watched him finger a brick as if to throw it
at my head. Maybe that’s a metaphor. Maybe
that’s what happened. America, sometimes it’s hard
to tell the difference with you. All I could do
was lock myself inside his small bedroom. I pushed
a chest against the door and listened as he threw
his body at the wood. Listened as he tore apart
the pillow I had sewn him. He’d been good to me,
but this was like waiting for the walls to ignite.
You’ve heard that, America? In a firestorm
some houses burn from the inside out. An ember
caught in the eaves, wormed through the chinking, will flare up
in the insulation, on the frame, until everything
in the house succumbs to the blaze. In the morning,
I found him on the couch. Legs too long, arms spilling
to the carpet, knuckles bruised in the same pattern
as a hole in the drywall. Every wine bottle
empty. Each container of food opened, eaten,
or destroyed. “I didn’t want you to have this,”
he whispered. If he could not consume my body,
the food he’d given me to eat would have to do.
Have you ever seen a person walk through the ruins
of a burnt-out home? Please believe me, I am not
making light of such suffering, America.
Maybe the dream I still can’t get over is that,
so far, I have made it out alive.
__________________
America,
A Love Story
Wesleyan University 2026
Walking The Blues ℗ 1972 Candid Released on: 1972-01-01 Main Artist: Otis Spann Producer: Nat Hentoff Music Publisher: Candid Composer: Otis Spann Composer Lyricist: Otis Spann
Empty Cup
After a painting by Erin Gafill
A small still life
of an empty cup
executed in
hues of blue and
shades of gray.
It can hold anything
or everything.
You can pour in
coffee or tea,
or you can pour in
love, gratitude,
longing, bitterness,
or disappointment.
What will you hold
in this empty cup?
How does it taste?
_______________________
Dennis Maloney
Clearing the Stream
New & Selected Poems
1975-2025
yes i will
go up to
the stars
this language
that we are
goes only so far
in peril
of the invisible
quiet running water
yes
i will go up
to the stars
________________
Abundant Life
New & Selected Poems
Chax Press 2025
Adoration
The afternoon is beautiful and silent.
The white garage lifts like the cloudy pillar
Into the sunlight. The tree rears taller,
Its foliage rufled like a green swan's plumage,
A sudden bird goes skimming through the sky
As noiseless as a fish swims in the sea.
When everything is far and near at once,
Remote as memory and luminous as now,
Till mind is cut adrift and like a web
Shimmering rides the heat waves up and down.
Nothing is half so tenuous as flesh,
Which, on the lightest pretext, steals away
To sleep in the cocoon of summer heat and haze,
When a jay's scream might tumble the brick wall
Next door to slide into the forests of the grass,
The afternoon so beautiful and silent.
________________
Onions and Roses
Wesleyan University Press, 1968