Out on the high

Way hitching

To nirvana

Ginger and curry

Pasted on my open


I wake up

In San Diego

The desert rolls up

To the street curb

In a gold limo

You step out like a star

Meanwhile the parakeets

are parked in the palm trees

In front of Von’s

They wave

A gold-blue salute

Then disappear

Into the flat blank

California sky

PS I am here on the left

Coast and you back east

Up to the hilt

In snow

Say Hello




Watering this small plant

covered with road dust, half dead in tire tracks

and gasoline fumes, I forgot to tell you about

what is here and elsewhere,

How as a child driving in the car at night

I would lean into the immensity of my father

And feel suddenly safe, fear falling from me

Like water, and I would remember the overgrown

Thicket behind our house near where my ma hung out the laundry

And where sometimes I would go to feel something,

Anything in the scattering sky, wondering

why I was forever being born

How way past older now

Rebounding from the usual flinty remarks

I wished for before, emerging in the unseasonable

heat, looping up and doubling down and across the arbitrary

Freeway ,  I come across these blazing sparks of memory:

Arc flung up against the baffling sky




Coyote man notorious
He’s doin’ the precarious

The new dance craze

IMG_0937Far from  hilarious
He thinks that he’s uproarious
This trickster makes us furious
He out slicks the weary us
He’s doin’ the precarious
The new dance craze


Leapin’ from that snowbank

Wavin’  that icicle

He’s doin’ the precarious

That’s why we call him dangerous

He’s laffin’ from the rafter

This bad/ass master

Master of disaster

He’s doin’ the precarious

The slick dance craze

Where’s The Narrative?

Suddenly over.

Like that. Then you ask again

When can we begin?


Then: there is something

I wanted. Here. Fiery beauty.

Full bodied. Lucid.


Then. Wants to be small.

Obscured. Then. Wants disappeared.

Then. Wants to wake up.


Could this possibly

Be snow fever ? Then again. Get

Going. Then. Go out.



When Asked What I Do as Poet Laureate EGS


I’m out here

Waiting for you

You’ll find me

After lunch

At the Allalin

Out in the garden

Under the glacier

At the long table

The red one

Near the pine trees

Or if not here

I’ll be up on

The grassy bank

Near the near side

of the Crystale

You’ll find me

Waiting for you

As you enter

On the poetry bus


“Dig in the dirt now

It won’t hurt now”

As we throw away or gather in

an image or a question or a red thread

As we speak our dreams

from the heat to the hear

To the heart to the hearth

To the middle of mud to

the first circle the creation cycle

We listen we hold on

Tomorrow we will do the same

We do not disappear

We eat our words

They are nutricious and satisfying

Here in the sunlight under the glacier

And we am grateful

So we bow to the mountains

We bow to the sky

We bow to the great momma

Who’s happening by

We praise the poems

that make us cry

Or laugh or sigh or wander

Or wander off

When we’ve had enough

We praise the one that takes too long

The one that comes into us

Like a song

The one you never wrote

The one that catches in your throat

The one that makes you yawn

The one you suddenly own

The one you dare

The one you try for the first time

The one that arrives

As surprise or this morning at sunrise

The understanding one

The one that gives you rant for the rope

The one that got away

The one that catches in your throat

The one stuck in the craw

The one for the crow the one for the crew

The laconic one the ironic one the one that says nope

You see me/ I’m here

I’m your poet laureate

I have my lasso

So don’t worry

You can’t go wrong

I’m here

At the garden’s edge

Like an egg on the horizon

And if it rains

We’ll make a contingency plan

Maybe inside near the bar

Or upstairs in my room

We’ll find a place

So don’t go away

I’ll be there

Will you be there?

Ok then



It is a bitch no break

A purple mysterious bitch

to make a poem in this Library

The ghosts of poets escape book covers

And hover over my shoulder

And snitch to the god of the dead.

Their words are not much read here.

Their memories rust in the mold.

I am alone and cold.


Besides, I am covered with the cloak of Jah

All the gods I follow are women

And they are all living gods

When I seek just one

I look into the eyes of my mother

Or the eyes of my lover.

–Dia Ajanaku


You’re the one

I searched the world for

the one I clothed

In rags and feathers

And mysterious beads

from sunken treasures

Yes you’re the one

I followed home

when papa told me

No, absolutely



You’re the one

Who keeps me waiting

In frightening ports of entry,

Pulls me under, pulls

Off my outerwear, slips

Into me soundlessly




Older than thyme

Or mama

Older than trauma

Or boat of the dream

Older than knife

Or seek a new life

Older than shine

Or thine

In time with



You’re the one