Hello again. It's been a while. I'm moving to Japan in June--if any of you have any advice or stories please send me a note. Here's a new poem from a series called "Rarified Tissue":



Sometimes in a ebbing and unsettled winter,

My hidden month whispers consolation.

It tells of Oakland’s secret history: magicians
and tobacco and decapitations.

Can smoke stream out from a disembodied head?
12 seconds, and a cigarette is all you might want

because you quit and still dream.

Poetry and divination do not always save the day.

Believe me, if I were a cat, feral and shadowed, I’d forego
writing and perfect the art of pouncing—

I’d encompass the universe as I lit upon a pigeon,
Biting off its head in one effortless motion.