poems up at Tupelo Press 30/30!

Hello fellow writers and generous readers.

Tupelo Press, a small independent press founded in 2001 accepted me into their December 30 poems written in 30 days challenge to both strengthen my discipline and craft and support their awesome organization.

Check out my poems up daily there, here: https://www.tupelopress.org/the-3030-project-2-2/

For anyone who’d like to support the press as it connects to me writing, you can do that here: https://tupelopress.networkforgood.com/projects/64224-jefferson-duval-s-fundraiser

Thanks for reading, and being steadfast in your own craft.


came with no manual

night will
you wait up for me
there is so much un-mouthing
in feeding momentum

swallowing order with twists
vastness in which no spaghetti
sticks – wetness

remember as they hide
from these eyes of men effete

drown the amnesia
as moon holds the bowl

light in a reflected Jay’s eye
night your spiral
boomerang hock

the turn won’t wait
corkscrew through
unwinding the day’s arc
tenderizing us to receive
your dreams.

November salutation

this ability to look forward
a gift of sight so often
made a curse
looking back

why not celebrate?
who taught us about victory
without flags and fanfare
medals, certificate objects
on greyed out walls

the directions, still
another mirror to manage
our beloved weight

we walk on paved sidewalks
in this land of buffalo
and in feeling small
forget to ask for a ride

time is moving through you
even now
its cherishment awaits
put down your barbed floss
good grieving of your loss
praise this new day!

the new bottle

I’m all for well timed graffiti
scrawl next to the good times
piercing veils of coffee and tar
look up from the water to sky
miles made, for the sake and a
pole position for an eclipse

not well scribed but
its voice, ice in your trance
bounding comes to rest
it says

running is hiding
hiding is seeking
seeking is empty
empty is meaning

the air inside

don’t wait for me
my need is jagged glass
smoothing and re-breaking
over cliff edges
under the surface of crisp
year round streams

my home has no doors
trying, the little hinges
that once swung them
lost their grip
like chipped and worn teeth
off they ripped

this new welcoming has no command
it sits quiet and crosslegged
watching billionaires and beggars
pass at breakneck speed
with face first grace
promising down, down, down

don’t wait for me
my actions have become imprecise
muffled conversing
dim witted fragments
my watching the only light on
facing inward
ignorant of rain and thirst
hope, the space of an empty prayer
love the inflatable raft

c-span, diametrics & my friend from before I was little

the dance of a toe
tapping governance
circumstance as
irrespective of chance
_____________  .  ______________
queer heard
sounds of ordering
courtly night
one’s to hold dear
_____________  .  ______________
the cries wind-ing
beneath starry insertions
people leverage
what’s left
pieces of end wed
_____________  .  ______________
young Thomas
before we wordy need
my friend
before I knew