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In another hemisphere, it might be Spring. On another planet, there might be fifteen suns and no moon. You run the risk of no Miles Davis, no oxygen to breathe, no hyperbole. In the far-off corners of the cosmos, there might be ten key touch. There might be a constellation that resembles the profile of…

I. The land beside me filled with snakes. I would lose my land. They would come on camels, they would come on elephants. They would take Woman from the dark stone room. Knock over the clay. Knock the wind against the wall. Let it scatter. II. The order of the pebbles this way goes. Which…

You cannot befriend the waiter even if you call him Phillip and ask if his daughter is better even if he greets you more or less by name and remembers that you favor the more modest merlots. He is on his feet and you are a chair. When he passes through the swinging doors into…

Because my daughter loves the dog, he is less dog than spirit guiding her dark center. The wolf of intent and action, he answers her low whistle. He is all hers, tail and eye, one ear cocked, as if he had been waiting all this time, emissary of her own imagination, born the same year…

Let no air ever come between you. No clean sheet. No lamplight. No dust. Let the hotel curtain be your guide, the absolute fabric, the craving to get lost like a strong thread. Go blank against one another. Turn blue. That’s day and night. Stop needing your own blood so. Dry up and get in…

They’ll come she says just smear some jelly from your sandwich on the back of your hand and wait how she passes the drowsy hour of math before lunch the initials carved like Braille on the desk a fly alights on her sleeve her wrist they are drawn to us drawn to what is sweet…

November like a train wreck as if a locomotive made of cold had hurtled out of Canada and crashed into a million trees, flaming the leaves, setting the woods on fire. The sky is a thick, cold gauze but there’s a soup special at Wafflehouse and the Jack Parsons show is up at the museum,…

I live by the river, daughter to no one. Of course, I want. The formless sea fills every window, always the sleeping gift in my left hand, not how the life was     outlined. The underwater road is obscured, as it should be. Light years     waste away in my body. When my mistress sends…

Your images come to you like the lost buffalo. In the sundown of your fancy, in the slanted town, two men face each other in the street. After the war, we all lived in a ruined city. I wore my black tie every day to class. The night they come calling for you, they don’t…