Bill of Rights

Bill of Rights


Amendment 1

The closet is sated. 600 pounds of clothes

nestle on shelves and in corners.

What have you said in the cunning tongues of cashmere and cotton

that you have not said with your strategic absences?

Be silent. Be naked. You have that right.


Amendment 2

Do you feel your fears nuzzle against your ribcage?

It’s time to extinguish the dark, you skittish lover.

You have the right to vacillate, but no right to time.


Amendment 3

Burgundy secrets slink behind the columns

in front of the house.

Do you smell something February and blue?

Follow your nose. It is your privilege to do so.

It is your power.


Amendment 4

The committee decided you don’t have a right to this right.


Amendment 5


Monitor the horses in Chincoteague.

Paint their hooves red, yellow, and blue.

Climb your ladder.

Watch art born.

It is your birthright.





Ermine sentences burrow in the dark

in the field where no one listens.

I will dig them up,

roll them in my palms,

use and abuse them.

September Tells a Tale

September tells me a story

of children made only of fog

or of the perfect arrangement of fallen leaves

right before the breeze blows.


Some children wanted to sing

and others to shine.


But children shimmer

and then are gone –

sear sucker left on the ground rumpled.


They grow up,

move into cities of wine,

houses of immaculate deception.