Sunday, April 15, 2018



No noon rest, no quiet tinder

No squirt rinse, no red squid
No taurus resin, no equus suds
No disaster sounds, no noise donors

No inside oats, no susan diets

No norse tunes, no neat stains
No quota trains, no tin nuns
No nation rust, no treason ruts

No sin dross, no sand daisies

No raisin squares, no sinus rain
No drain rent, no stasis dunes
No dirt rants, no oars arouse

No notions, no rinds, no turds, no dinner

No quest, no noses, no trends, no sequiturs


The land is too dry

for planting, and our crops are
burning in the field


(As published in the second issue of American Writing [1990], wherein it was misattributed to "Arsenio Ortega."  My first published poems in over a quarter of a century can be found here.)

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