Here comes the black puppy with his ears and his snappy tail and his wet eyes. You say here comes the black puppy wanting to come in or to be run over or for his daily ration of beatings, kicks to the ribs, a smack in the nose and he whines, thank you, thank you….
June, I don't have to use magic burned into roots of antelope words to tell you what I mean, when I say I met myself in the Egyptian Room just a few days before my thirty-sixth birthday. It wasn't vertigo, though vertigo is common in the bowels of the concrete monster. Crossing Fifth Avenue was…
Blue Sea, black, in the hotel room He paces up and down and at The door the waiter is knocking: A glass of water, there you are, sir. How my head is pounding From my head Behind the wall the old thunder groans. He roars so loud that no sound comes. The lily sleeps behind…
I met Kazmir at Mrs. Malek's. He was a couple years older than I was, though only a grade ahead of me. His blond hair was just growing back from the baldy sour they'd given him after the school nurse found lice, and the deep, white-welted scar commemorating a fall from a second-story window when…
It stands like a resentment. The mind's city unfolded to a huge, discordant image. Recollection closes in on the ancient buildings, the fractured curbs, and in all the places you might have known, women walk in the opposite direction. Onward to their first novel, the fictional release. I look through a great eye, seeing more…
“Here I was begging the Muse not to get me in troble with the powers that be, not to make me write out all those ‘filthy’ words, all those scandalous, scabrous lines, pointing out in that deaf and dumb language which I employed when dealing with the Voice that soon, like Marco Polo, Cervantes, Bunyan…
Like through a telescope Planted in a fresh grave, I see through your nostrils, Darkly, the more distant past. Stubborn your horse skull That knows of the price on its head. Like a plate empty for days We stretch our hands out of the frame. A bloody yoke swims through The egg white of the…
Jimmy returned from summer camp in love with fishing. He swam, played baseball, took riflery and even horseback riding, but passed his best days dangling a five-pound cat-gut line in the cold, blue lakes of Wisconsin. He was sad when camp ended and he said good-bye to Uncle Marv, the counselor who taught him fishing,…
When I am positive that nobody loves me, I despise all musical instruments. I can't endure vacuum cleaner attachments. I hate Yeats, my mother, and all the attention Jesus got. I avoid, perhaps hate, great black people. When nobody loves me, I am positive of it. I devise an impossible Fahrenheit. A heat that could…
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