i. Ill …we are all ill, i.e., neurotic… —Sigmund Freud All ill, some very, some not so much or notso evidently—though perhaps for thatall the more ill. Overall I’d say I was ill,but not quite ill all over as there’s stillsome small patch of well, a window sillof the psyche I can look out fromand…
I avoid books about the present or last war, The war has never been. The air Is thinning itself for the breakup of winter. Breadths of breeze requiring sun Slice through any and every complaint To a dark kind of summer. Moon scuffed at its edges, brighter, Narrower, smears its self-improvement mirror- Image of giveaway…
for J.G. I am powerless to change a thing. ButLet me fool you, sweetly, with my penOr better still, my fingers, and if not With my fingers, then my tongue—Wherever you feel yourself turnedTo wood, wherever a joint is thick Pinned into a pleat or crook, trappingYou in twists of pure human pain—Let me in….
Into the mute and blue- green marble mailbox my dust deserves to go though not for that which I’m going. I deserve to go, and not alone, because I did not sing loud enough about this life, this world. Singing poorly is acceptable. Not loud enough is not. There were too many things I saw…
The war that so many would like to forget, and so many othersrefuse to remember. Thank you for the relief, the rest,for leaving only palimpsestand a little rolled orange eraser dust,and not the xxxxx of a stitched-up wound,when you came to do what erasers do.The way you rubbed out, in one wide swath,the memory of…
Plaintive 1 They asked me, “what do you think ofthe smell of money, the smell of a womanand the smell of the sea?” I held firm.Night wavered and people were singing.The smell of the sea I know, I said,but I am not an informer. The smellof a woman is my purposeful businessand you and I…
for Bob Kennedy Thank you for the trilobite, Its four hundred million years (Approximately) parceled With tissue paper and two Elastic bands, carefully. Set free by your hammer blow From the muddy blackness Of deep Ordovician seas, It finds its way in sunlight To Carrigskeewaun, eyeless At the fireside among bleached Bones and raven feathers….
Translated from the Albanian by Ani Gjika Here, everyone smokes.In the eveningeach wiferecognizes her husbandby the faraway glint of his cigaretteat the end of the cobblestone street. When the glint pulses frequentlywives feel the storm coming and rush to warm dinner in the fire.But when it’s scarce and lazylike the pulsing iodine of jellyfish on…
My objective is never to touch it. No such thing as a naughty clock, give it Its head, I say, serve The natural tendency to ebb And flow… When amplitude drops the clock Starts racing— Added to which, in winter Ground water affecting foundations of the tower Alters the angle the timepiece leans. Hair drier works to warm the sensor, Enjoy! Now to anomalies: clock detects The cleaning lady…
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