Amped-up grid lights growl starsonto the hay-baled dirt ring onto blistered chrome and rust-lace,car-shells taped and painted over to resemble shapes of cars. We’rebleachered, gum-shoed, bleached by glare, laughing at ourselvesfor being here, spilling beer and sponging powdered sugarfrom our rumpled shirt-fronts, smiling. Rumbles in the air,our guts, the gears chunking and purring, the stands…
Between mud walls and the kivawind off the mesa broke his phrases,as we walked with Billy of the Parrot Clan and with others. The windowsmelting into blowing snow and the ripped-off split-level doors jammed on the adobes. Out of fleeting blue, then white,we caught bitesabout the time of killing Spaniards under the full moon,after the…
Of the many things that he used to say to me, there are twoI’m certain of: You taste like a last less-than-long summer afternoonby the shore just before September; and You’re the kind of betrayal, understand, I’ve been waiting for,all my life. When did remembering stop meaningto be lit from within—bodily— and the mind, briefly flickeringagain…
I’m resting on a bench in the cemeterywhile Ned scrawls his self-delighted wild-boy traceover the slopes of grass, but we can’t stay long, since it’s a day I need to go into the city,and when I stand up suddenly my left leg’s half a footlower than my right, because I’ve stepped into the sunken, newly…
The vessel is simple, a rowboat among yachts.No one hides a Tommy gun in its case.No bluesman runs over his uke in a whiskey rage. The last of the Hawai’ian queens translated the namegift that came here, while Portuguese historians translatejumping flea, the way a player’s fingers pick and fly. If you have a cigar…
This endless room is deep blue, dark red.I’m wearing my Valentino gown, vintage silhouettebut hand-stitched for me. It’s the same purpleas my favorite twilight, just as I requested. Everyone is here—I can see across the waythe black-rooted starlets and reality queensdrinking acai Cosmos. And I can see the disgracedcongressman studying his notes at the bar,…
Praise scissors that clip split ends easily as ex- boyfriends. The one who died in college, the refugee who crossed a blood-soaked Nile, but never could get over you. Praise coffee and Kentucky bourbon. Daughters pulled deep into Ohioan corn, romances banished to backseats and barstools, and newlyweds two-stepping to the second line waving paper…
is another thing Nietzsche saidthat hits me as pretty specious,if not entirely untrue,while sitting in my car in the Costcoparking lot, listening to the BalletMécanique of metal buggies shrieking as each super, singular, and self-containedwisdom of this Monday morning rumblesits jumbo packs of toilet paper and Diet Cokeup the sidewalk. So count me a Despiserof…
Out back of the motel, a man and a boy feed alligators in the dark. I can see them past the curtains. Past the paisley curtains and through the cracked and dirty pane of glass, I see them, like shadows, see them and the slow, casting motions they make. I see things leave their hands,…
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