In the dream he was a hawk with blood on its beak. In the dream he was a hawk. In the dream he was a woman, naked, indolent from pleasure, a gleam of sperm on her vaginal lips. In the dream he was a woman. (He could both be the woman and see the viscid…
By the window in the fancy hotel— looking out, looking out with them. A little coffee. A little cake. These things have come for me. And not a secret, but apparent from which I come out of how I could stand back, and let happen the birds, and the sea, and the sky. I woke…
Houston, 1953 Masses of one un-housed household added to another, all abandoned and made to abandon their names. A non-colonnade of gray clods. A un-quadrangle of neo-rational obliteration. An arcade of ashes. Ditch-buried hordes of kin left akimbo, an imprisoned necropolis on the verge of the vast acres of the settled precincts of our planet—or…
People called his music inspired and wicked. They said the man was gifted with crazy guitar fingers that could make you weep one moment and get you shouting hot damn the next. His first manager used to brag to any ear that would listen: Take your girl to hear him, Kreuter will get you laid—and…
The walls inside the city buildings curve, glass and plaster bending in thigh-shape, or breast-shape, a comfort to patients in RECEPTION, waiting to have their griefs or gallbladders removed, tumors and proud flesh pulled from the body, snipped off by the healer who has no sodden breast to offer in return, no nutriment, but only…
It’s just like the tongue, isn’t it, to fold you up into a tiny origami swan whose angled wings splay and whose jutted neck and beak point out over some expanse of water a tugboat hauling the mammoth frigate upstream the reckless kayaker tickling an eddy the currents changing temperature beneath your feet as you…
Sidewalk vendors look askance when I ask Am I headed East or West? I could tell them I navigate by the sky’s color but it wrong-foots me time and again. What sky? they say, looking up. The one that cracked wide one bright September, while we were looking away, the one that enchanted Portuguese cartographers,…
Translated by Jennifer Grotz and Piotr Sommer Verily it is the Apple that wants to be eaten Apple of sweet ignorance of good and evil a dappled, appley, appleton squeezed inside itself like a fist reeling until hurt by its own seeds Around its own impatience it quickly revolves to eve so that she might…
She says, Your English is great! How long have you been in our country? I say, Suck on a mango, bitch, since that’s all you think I eat anyway. Mangoes are what model minorities like me know nothing about, right? Doesn’t a mango just win spelling bees and kiss white boys? Isn’t a mango a…
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