top of page


the imagined psaltery (ongoing)
[to seek after the origin of order, to imagine what it is to be, what it is to become, to seek after the sound of an imagined instrument and to attempt to create it, creation as a tension held aloft, a repetition in the air, a modulation of the carrier signal upon which meaning, in its expression, relies, or so the hope spurns me on onward, and the glinting-through of the firmament in the midst of the tension held aloft...]
 


Still Life— released 2019
[to stave off the encroaching afterlife of the still-living, to resume, return to the unanswerable question, seek again the origin of form and order and ask of the instrument: Whose name do you speak, unwavering, and why?
 


Guided Meditation for the Solar Eclipse— released 2018
[in which the moon aligned with the sun and I prayed a desperate prayer in its shadow, sun-blind and god-wild, that I might deliver a tenuous tangible something from back from beyond the veil]
 


Memory of the Sound of Home— released 2015
[in which the absence of the thrum of summer evenings, the tree frogs, the bull frogs, spring peepers, the endless cicadas, the caterwaul of life in the thick of itself, and there I was, on the opposite coast with only the waves to break the silence, making necessary the attempt to conjur it from a great distance]
 


Radio Ghost— released 2014
[an ode to my recently-unearthed four-track and the holy ghost caught moving through magnetic tape all those years later, still hissing through fresh static—
A tension between Eliot's Prufrock and a misremembered line from G.C. Waldrep's "III. Palm Beach, Florida, 1987:"

Currently I am looking at everyone else's hands to guess
(who is an angel.) (who moves among us.)
 

 

Slow Joy— released 2012
[in which I found a secret hiding inside the translation between domains, the electric guitar unfolding a notion the acoustic had only hinted at and, released an EP instead of writing a final essay for a course in the Romantics, too busy falling in love myself, and then being asked to write the final paper on the EP instead of holding Byron and Yeats and Shelley in tension with each other, setting out instead to explain this slow joy and failing to do any better than the mystery as I'd first gotten my hands around it, or the mystery since, saying very little about its actual origin and adding nothing to the conversation that Wallace Stevens hadn't already landed on and better, or Frank O'Hara for that matter:
 

Did you see me walking by the Buick Repairs? 
I was thinking of you 
having a Coke in the heat it was your face 
I saw on the movie magazine, no it was Fabian's 
I was thinking of you 
and down at the railroad tracks where the station 
has mysteriously disappeared 
I was thinking of you 
as the bus pulled away in the twilight 
I was thinking of you
 

and right now

​


The October Country— released 2010
[a birthday gift to myself through a season of failure, a reckoning with failure & loss and an attempt to find some way to speak the truth in a world of encroaching fictions, an attempt to simply write my own name for fear of losing my voice otherwise, and finding something else working its way out through the right words from a knowledge I could not name, in homage to Ray Bradbury, for introducing me to myself when I was a boy through his character of Douglas Spaulding in Dandelion Wine, marveling at the same wild knowledge I'd spend the rest of my life trying to bring forth, from the light, into the light, here a bare bulb swinging at a distance in a great darkness, and yet, shining...]
 

bottom of page