Nights flex. You occur to me like morning’s sketchy moon: a surprising intimate. I lapse into you delirious as a drive into rain. Something you say is your hand, opening, inside me. You have to sleep alone to dream. . . Who can remember, counting backwards, the logic of snow. Leaves shake their fists, the…
on Lake Titicaca Era of Giant Tapirs she stepped out of her craft Oreana her skin the deep sheen of gold with weird webbed feet & hands embraced the Boss Tapir * * * thus we began who have two breasts like her & intelligence & a womb like hers & a tool like the tapir’s…
(for Lynne) 1. My fingers will not function when your eyes are closed. They stop at the letters of your shrugging shoulders; your clothes whisper: “There are words better left alone.” At odd hours I rob you blind and hurry home carrying the ill-gotten loot as if it were the history of future civilizations. I…
I received a very formal invitation: written on an anvil, her name flew by me. A soliloquy was given. Pieces of barbed wire were lifted, like flags. Of course, the necessary wafer salted with magnesium was passed around. When she first spoke I summoned immediately the bondsman for the indignant. Believe me, I never knew…
Between then and now five years poker hands, poker face killing the time it takes. Five years lies obligations you cannot shelter everyone even one you cannot ignore this beginning grace.
After we had burned on the water a while, amid the chopper-borne shouts, flares, and thrashing rope ladders, we put into quiet, dark rooms. I couldn’t touch you through my walls – my nails screeled into chines. Why had they bored lights in me like that? You must have known we were set on sand….
The rooms live on. When we finish, they continue, the walls creating the same space, holding the same air that held our bodies when we held our bodies, preserving the scene when we have abandoned it for some novel sunset, some television, dinner at a friend’s. The bed is forced into it. The lamps compose…
For Darrell Gray Someone once told me it’s a non-verbal medium, expressing yourself to another. Someone else said, Please accept my apologies for not expressing myself better. I know what I mean, but the words, the WORDS will not contain it. They are like girls one meets & goes to bed with, & who afterward…
Murder and no names for the excitement of law that the ax cuts my own genitals to butcher her. America sucked on its fuse. The days congealed. The heights of billions of years burned in information. I did not want prose tho the poem could do no more for the Laurel Canyon Road with Deanna…
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