The Commotion

The littlest games the ego plays:

what a marvelous match.

And what but underbrush could burn

and burn away the burdens on your back?

There never has been an unintended clamor;

The commotion of the winds

will carry on in song and dance

and never touch the land —

Or maybe, in an Otherworld,

our gods are in a trance.

Our gods are building new canoes,

out of charcoal, and out of glass.

Recent Posts

See All


I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d

a better question

In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?


I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa

+1 (202) 384-5561

  • Visit my Facebook page!
  • Visit my Instagram

©2017 by The Kilele Project. Proudly created with