It is not the cold hands

of winter, nor evenings

spent drinking soju,

which make me shout

at birds and throw stones

at the moon.


It is not geometry which

keeps my heart from being

touched.  It is not

the sea urchins weeping

within my skull.


Like rabid wolverines and

the children of crack whores,

Time itself is rather

surly and perverse.




Beware of Subtext


My mother-in-law

lives in Albuquerque.


The tragedy is,

she belongs there.




Irrational Exuberance   --for Abby Lee


My mind insists upon

ten thousand reasons

why I should not

love you.

My heart offers

only one




I do.




Goddess of Imaginary Geraniums


The moment

I looked

into her eyes

I realized


could not




David Kowalczyk


David Kowalczyk lives and writes in Oakfield, New York.  He has taught English in Changwon, South Korea, and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, as well as at several American colleges, including Arizona State.  His poetry has appeared in seven anthologies and over one hundred magazines, including California Quarterly, Maryland Review, and St. Ann's Review.  He was founding editor of Gentle Strength Quarterly.