“Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room.” He rode a dark horse through the land of nightmares, his hair pulled back so tight his eye's couldn't close. Elizabeth feared for her sister Jane who was kind to strangers. The land of sisters neighbors the land of English country houses. A letter…
You are far away, Space dipping and swaying in time, And I have something to say But do not know just how. If I could speak in light (Eight and a half minutes from sun to earth) I would, words on solar wind, Lighting up the polar sky, Curtains curving, Rivers of noun and verb….
When, as a child, I spelled the lines on the stones around me where lay those peaceable strangers for whom the essential mood was a sweet-tempered quietude (since here they had resigned not only the strength of flesh but all their tears and anger, subsumed in a common ground — no speech to soothe or…
for C. deGravelles Can you remember when the air just smelled like pine trees, wet dirt, a few flowers? Worlds on worlds still tumble over and this river which was always muddy retains its surface sparkle. But only a fond heart builds immortal faith on a few bright bubbles. Look here: to dig a dirt…
From Boston south he talks of citrus fruit And extra children who pop like extra toes. A good man cuts them off or he makes room. His girlfriend knows that she will never laugh. There is an old man who has lived in shoes, Refinished basements, plastered catacombs Where the cold walls felt like a…
I saw the picture in Newsweek or Time and couldn't believe who was back in the news. But there it sat, encased in antique gold and pedestrian prose, apart from the rest of her imaginably lush lost body, which it recalls with false metonymy. The news is littered with the bodies of women — whores,…
Tommy Priola is on the mound, brother of curve ball specialist Nick, and I am at the plate waiting for the first pitch of the game. I am in the process of examining a singular event in my life. Priola, unlike his brother, is a right-hander and his usual position is that of catcher. I'm…
Thunderclouds gathered above the highway like a bruise rising to the surface of the sky. I crossed the Mississippi and rain fell, the world became water, grey matter. In the stillness just ahead of the storm I saw snowy egrets lifting above a field. Their bodies rose, a chorus catching the currents of the mightier…
When Clifford wasn’t back to camp by nine, I went to look among the fields of dead before we lost him to a common grave. But I kept tripping over living men and had to stop and carry them to help or carry them until they died, which happened more than once upon my back….
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