the clicker

some things come to
“naturally” in child
hood that lost like

get smothered tracked
on with accumulated
years of office pop

cubicle sound proof
ing interspersed w/
whispered curses company

coffee cups then one day
finally have alone time w/
“your” smothered thoughts

colors tamped down a few
sense of rhythm off kil
ter search for a little

lights are left inside
finds you are slid into
the reciprocity of “likes”

easiest way to survive
be watcher, commenter
supporter, clicker of ads

fund me set to default this
lead cloud info something
prior to this in colors

the line

the report of today’s
ire in pre election mode
was antecedent to
lunch of raw fatty
salmon in the Poke

House stuffed with
roe & that’s enough
of that but lacking
ores and a boat is how

one feels today sore
loss of wild imagined
waters there to wait
out the end of this


is just too pathetic
as well as the sour
sop (news) spoon fed
in small bytes with

kittens and puppies
all mangey we con-
gratulate our selves
for to save us is


or selvedge the line
the margin of error
the frayed ends


I keep wanting to design a small book for the sake of designing a small book. A chapbook or something. Something I’ve always wanted to do, since high school, when I DID design a small book (since lost).

So yeah a chapbook why the hell not. But not totally about the poems because I want this to be a visual object, too. And yet I don’t want it to be about being “handmade,” because sometimes I think those are just too “precious” in a way that bothers me. No, I’d like to design a book where the art has about the same weight as the poems, and they are integrated.

Oh I forgot that I designed a small book in junior high using the covers of an old book, and typing on pages that I glued in between the covers. I still have it, but it’s kind of a mess, that one. Not as much fun as the one I made later in high school.

The Barkada


my hay(na)ku

chops, preparing myself



a round

of hay(na)ku reading



and selection

with Vince and



Karri at

X-Press(ed) (up north)



at the

helm of the



barkada, we

few, we lucky . . .



navigating the

sea of prolixity



words at

hand, ready swords



doves, or

drink, as needed