In the summer of 1967, Nathan Bogmore never woke up before eleven o’clock. He was fourteen years old, and he slept with more intensity than he did anything else. Having just left the warm, rumpled mattress in the empty back room of their cottage, he stood at the front door in his pajamas, squinting into…
Green is the color that defines them, of course. They don’t realize yet, but it’s already there in the picture. Look closely, and Susan’s wearing a grass-green peridot and pearl ring on her engagement finger, for Jim, who’s coming to meet her as the S.S. Carinthia steams into New York Harbor. And Keith has on…
Annual festival of the god of reborn souls and abandon, The young drunken one who dies and in springtime rises: From all over the City families come to the great amphitheater Bringing picnics of roast fowl, rounds of bread, cheeses, Preserved salt meats, clay jars of wine and citron water, Feasting all afternoon on the…
Colors get married and dance steps try but a dance step is selfish. Diagrams make dioxin look like a six-sided dance with carbon prongs but dance steps won’t build up over time. Some of the white leaks out, a strangeness we can’t recognize till marshes resemble these rheumy stanzas but unchosen. Dioxin likes breast…
One of those pizza-like images of the moons of Jupiter before computer enhancement is how I look to this moth, since that’s how everything looks (see Monet, etcetera) before the brain, with help from personal history, cleans it up. And this moth, the poor trustee of one small fraction of a thought, has got no…
i am a man’s head hunched in the road. i was chosen to speak by the members of my body. the arm as it pulled away pointed toward me, the hand opened once and was gone. why and why and why should I call a white man brother? who is the human in this place,…
Say that moment crossing over isn’t heard Say the hammer-anvil-stirrup don’t unfurl Say the balance was upset Say this balance was upset Say the outside world doesn’t ring Say the mind’s ear listening to an odd man singing Say the moment crossing over starting somewhere out and in Say the balance was upset Say this…
Fatherhood is like dying. A flood of days pools at the neck. Glub. He was born on the th of June. In the movie version, ghostly Jennifer Jason Leigh sits at the bus station, strung out, penniless, blowing cigarette smoke at the bruises on her distant, fetal legs, and dreaming of an Academy Award. Careful…
In the closet the dress lives, a deep white in its vinyl bag, eternal, the empire waist so stylish before her time and after, its crêpe ivoried, tartared like a tooth, feeding on what leaks through the zipper’s fervent mesh, an unmentionable, unworn, waiting, immortally in mind. Open a window, please, I’m feeling faint. On…
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