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Yesterday, jackrabbit belly was not a color. Today I hold a paint strip to the wall, and it’s true: this is the exact shade of a rabbit’s soft fur, of the sepia robe of St. Francis, whose followers swirled like birds, or were birds, St. Francis being one willing to trade like for like. An…
Two women are walking on the ocean floor I’m the one in front, holding an oxygen mask then passing it back to my mother We take turns She breathes I breathe She breathes I breathe We can’t talk we just keep walking and breathing and sometime towards morning I notice she’s gone A bit of…
Throw scissors at it. Fill it with straw and set it on fire, or set it off for the colonies with only some books and dinner- plates and a stuffed bear named Friend Bear for me to lose in New Jersey. Did I say me? Things have been getting less and less hypothetical since I…
every day someone finds what they need in someone else you tear into a body and come out with a fistful of the exact feathers you were looking for wondering why anyone would want to swallow so many perfect feathers everyone looks uglier naked or at least I do my pillar of fuzz my damp…
The other night at a party in Westlake Hills, just outside of Austin, I stepped outside to get some air and found a group of my old friends sitting around a fire pit in the backyard, smoking cigarettes. It was a strange sight, not only because I hadn’t seen most of these people in several…
Pull hair from your head:He loves me.Pull nails from your fingers, from your feet,like pulling teeth.Pull teeth.He always couldmake you scream. Your navel, neck:once whiskey-licked, nowghost-towned.Cast them off.He loves me not.Drag your legs around & beg:Remember me. But this dissemblingis your owninvention.You always wanted to be character:orphan girl, femme fatale. Heroine, riding bareback & white-hatted. Re-member…
I am afraid & so I run. If I wave a white flag, he’ll kill me,If I fight, I’ll die,I run Falling inside every stride.Where is the hero? WhereIs my swift horse? Achilles is a tiger, a tank, a raging fire,Every fear I ever hadIn one. I run. The gods help, especially ApolloGod of poetry…
Sometime late late last night, after polishing offTwo bottles of Millésime 2004 to mark our 25 wedding anniversaryAnd consequently finding ourselves dazed in bedFace to face eyelids drooping with both reading lamps blazing,Almost but not quite unconscious yet,I wanted to exclaim as I once didSomething seriously corny, like You are my queen! or at leastFlatteringly…
Four a.m., nothing moving, no hurry,dawn still has time to be choosyselecting its pinks. But now a breezebrushes across me—the way my skinis cooled off by the evaporationof sweat, this artistry, this systemsombers me: when I am blown fromthe body of life will it be refreshed?I dread the color of the answer Yes.
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