Poems and music criticism have appeared/are forthcoming globally but have generated
no reportable income. First full collection, smitten by harpies (Lion Autumn Press, 2016)
Second chapbook, Eve’s Venom (Post Traumatic Press, 2014) Purgatory Road
(Pudding House Press, 2010) Anthologies include: WaterWrites & Riverine
(Codhill Press, 2009, 2007) Will Work For Peace (Zeropanik, 1999). VP, Calling All Poets
in Beacon, NY. Producer of CAPSCASTS, recordings from Calling All Poets, available at
www.callingallpoets.net. Music features, interviews & CD reviews appear in Elmore Magazine
& the Van Wyck Gazette.

He loves Emily most of all

blue fan whirring

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Live @ Tract 187, West End Lounge, 9/13/16

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shiny banjo catfish

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Chicago Overcoat

It was a dream: Posing as a grifter
w/a bearcat named Ellie.
Nothing happened. We just kept posing
as the photog fumbled
w/film and flash.
Ambience. Angle.
Incidence. Time.

We chatted easy. She’d just broken up
w/a guy named Jim
who ran a deli on 6th. I’d just celebrated
my 25th. It was a great party.

Shadows. Stanchions.
Contrast and grain.
Hand in hand.
Depth of field.
Arm in arm.
The rule of thirds.

She looked like two million
and I felt like three.
Flash. Zoom.
It was a dream.

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MJ Live Aug 5 2016

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Goggling Ooh & Ahh

Goggling, Ooh and AhhThe village eccentricspits on your car.The aging hippieargues a lot.No one has a handleon it anymoreExcept the marketand you knowthey're bettingyou turnon your own anddo the dirty workfor them. You knowthey've got itfigured outto the very last gasp.Rounded upto eat your dimeand daughter. You knowthis is how it goes.It happens t...

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two wives ago/two doors down/the haloes in her glasses

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Haiku

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Adrift

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Featured

jane street (our tellings)

Jane Street (our tellings)

 They all wanted to fuck me
on Jane Street but didn't.
Such was the luck
of the brotherly type.
A witness to women
learning to walk
along the Rockaway sand.

Playing them Dusty. Joni. Laura.
Our voices rising to the sky
black w/worry. Intrigue. Late periods
and trouble at home. Manhattan dying.
The Bronx afire. The autumns
in Washington Square.

We talked to the city and
the city talked back.
Whispered us secrets
and lies. And truths that later
proved true.

They all wanted to fuck me
on Jane Street but didn't.
Such was the luck
of the brotherly type and
some pangs still play
in our tellings today.
Certainly sickness. Certainly death.
Certainly the tides, high and low and
who did who on Jane Street.

       
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