Category Archives: Poetry

Hard of Hearing

Posted on May 7, 2018 by sputterpub

“What do you want from life?” she asked. He said “To live with you, smoke ganja every day, and dance in sunlight naked.” But instead of simple listening, she found a way to make his words motif and metaphor that … Continue reading →

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Presence

Posted on May 3, 2018 by sputterpub

I held my sense in fairly high esteem when I was 21. I thought I knew myself and him, for I distinguished seem from is and ought. If anything, I grew indignant when I felt I wasn’t heard. I needed … Continue reading →

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The Interrupters

Posted on May 1, 2018 by sputterpub

My fingertips feel odd sometimes. They’re cold I note they weren’t so before, or numb when I sleep cheek-compressed – the way I hold them tightly there – or weakened in the thumb. My hands have lost all fat, and … Continue reading →

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At Play

Posted on April 30, 2018 by sputterpub

Incessant runs of solitaire I’ve played for pleasure and unburdening my mind. When I was young, I shuffled cards and made a pattern on my table – I’d unwind as colors intermeshed, and I would deal the game repeatedly. Computers … Continue reading →

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Tropes

Posted on April 19, 2018 by sputterpub

My brother moved his office from SF to Oakland – he reiterates the claim that he appreciates the jewel he left more now. But I know him – his words are lame. My sister says she’s into family because she … Continue reading →

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Personal Hygiene

Posted on April 17, 2018 by sputterpub

I’m in the bathtub every Thursday eve. The water’s always hotter than I meant, so I don’t soak as much as sweat, and leave the bath with scant a quarter hour spent. The first of every month I wash my … Continue reading →

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Hands

Posted on April 16, 2018 by sputterpub

At 16 years I knew a girl whose hands were soft and still at rest. She seemed serene, and she became the image I command when I attempt to wipe my worry clean. A year ago I started spending days … Continue reading →

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Tutorial

Posted on April 12, 2018 by sputterpub

I used to learn from Dad and friends and books – instructors taught me lessons now and then – but Dad misplaced his mind, and grown it looks like friends have given up and don’t intend to add to knowledge. … Continue reading →

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Quiet Hands

Posted on April 5, 2018 by sputterpub

The mother was the opposite of calm. She fidgeted with antsiness and stress, and never showed her children either palm except to slap or signal Stop. Unless the mother slept, her fingers weren’t still. She picked non-stop – her little … Continue reading →

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How

Posted on April 3, 2018 by sputterpub

I wondered: what’s the etymology of irony and iron? Do they share a common root, or trick disparity? I learned that they’re an unrelated pair. They sound alike coincidentally, and by the way, that’s not a synonym: coincident’ly’s not ironic’ly. … Continue reading →

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