I may as well post a poem. Bait maybe? I guess I just feel like posting this one. A proposition to the world. Any takers? You know where I live...

PRODIGAL
After Oppen

It is said
the coming of a ghost
stands hairs on end,
by way
of oblivion's hollow chill.
Beware then
the ghosts that come
in heat, still
living, their wrists
dark
with blood.

My father
put the savage sea
in me. Still,
I go tending
to wounds,
my mother's
child at last, but
on the curve
of the world
where emotion prickles,
an orphan.

Unhappy in winter.

Unhappy in summer.

Mucus on the calendar
sphere. Strike there--
where the world moves
in my throat.