Friday, July 6, 2018


New Directions 2007


In the house the house is all

house and each of its authors

passing from room to room

Short eclogues as one might

say on tiptoe do not infringe

I want my own house I'm

you and you're the author

You're not all right you're

all otherwise it appears as

if you don't care who you

are — if you count the host

Don't worry I go with the

house your living's where

you walk or have walked

I'd rather read than hurt a

hair of you listen to me

Premeditated twilight this

house a nearest wrapped

bundle of belonging idle

slip back through grasses

dabble our bare feet in

Poets have imagined you

whoever you are implicit

melody familiar metaphor

bawdy tapestries archaic

pillage love patience the

scales the dogs the boots

( a selection from
"118 Westerly Terrace")