Disorder

A tabletop full 

of early spring flowers.

A pantry crammed 

with empty vessels.

No one feels 

like eating.

[LSS, 3/16/26]

Bus Stop on the Diagonal Line

Two people talk

while 

two people eavesdrop 

while

two people record

the conversation.

[LSS, 3/7/26] 

 Infrathin part 3

First Poet: Dictionary pages painted/marked with India ink. Then placed between sheets of paper vellum/tracing paper and stitched all over to hold the layers together. Pages then cut into 1” squares. One page of squares restitched into a chain is 58” long.

Second Poet: Wow Duchamp died in 1968, we were all alive at the same time.

[LSS & RK, 3/7/2026]

 

Stop, Don’t Stop

First Poet: The eye wanders over an unfinished work of art and hopes that it will never be completed.

Second Poet: yet there are innumerable rest stops along the way

bitter coffee in chipped mugs

ordering "today's special"

pretending to fight over the last slice of rural pie

standing in a dusty gravel parking lot beneath a rising moon

the inescapable scent of freshly mown alfalfa perfuming the night air

cattle rustlers you only hear about

lonely couples leaning against pickup trucks

atypical country swing music

sawdust across dance floors

coyotes prowling where the streetlights end

 

the last cherry Lifesaver from a roll is a sign

that finishing is okay and you can say

‘this is my stop, let me off here”

 

[LSS & RK, 3/6/2026]

Interior View

When there is nothing left to think

about today, I draw a picture 

of my new titanium hip. It comes out 

looking like Camano Island. 

After that, I find a stale fortune 

cookie under the refrigerator.  

“You are/are not an island,” 

it says. “Circle one.” 

There are no lucky numbers.

[LSS, 3/1/26]