Some poems from Postcards to Olympus



How many cubits
does the black sail cloth measure?

There, near the horizon
it is as small as a pupil
constricted against the sunlight.

Here, squared by my heartbeat
it is as large as the dark cliff
that tumbles past my eyes.



You cannot touch me,
I have friends in high places
and the confidence to carry it off.

I walk before you,
wearing no armour,
you cannot touch me.

You cannot touch me,
I have a shield of arrogance
its surface reflects only self.

My spear is forged from ambition,
so big no other could carry it,
you cannot touch me.

A weak spot? Hardly,
I never look back,
I cannot see your point.


Orpheus in L.A.

Cruising Hollywood and Vine,
scanning the rear view mirror.

The face I thought I saw
lean toward a car door,

glitches my heart's speedo.
From the corner of my eye memories well,

the blurring headlights and neon
absorb your likeness back into the underworld.