Down at the beach. The lake trying to wash the moon off its back. The moon trying to ride the horse of the lake. Me lighting a candle and sticking it in sand. Another. Making a circle for the wind to burn its fingers on. For the moon to read a flickering elegy to itself….
well—i suppose we could spend more time pretending i bought a new suit for carnegie hall—bought a new suit for the occasion, bought a new suit with dues from paris yes it’s true, he pays a price for an america which still leaves a balance. well—i have a future held in the lungs of this…
We were downing cheap red wine at a bar called Library Books free for the taking The carafe like a blood-filled IV bag I opened a book on palmistry Lifelines When my words began to slur you took me to Mickie-Dee’s A ghoul was there and the grim reaper Masks on…
It is not my birthday but today I walk by the cold shrubs of my town’s finest lane popping birthday cake jelly beans into my mouth one by one. How spectacular, the way we’ve reduced an event into a little waxen egg! It is speckled like a robin’s egg; pink, blue, yellow, orange. It even…
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. —My memory of my father’s voice message Up the sky-escalator to meet his maker. An angel measures the draperies of my dad’s inscape with tailor’s tape, palpates the spot near his unfaith. Rate your life’s pain. Weighty, dad answers. A…
One father culled talons from an eagle’s claw and strung them around our necks. Another father watched a dogwood tree burn slowly through the night. The yellowjacket froze in the space between our faces, two numb fingers brushing the edge of a sharp tack. You spoke softly—each word blinking hard then opening wide its soft…
I’ve got an arrow here. Loving the hand that sent it I the dart revere. —Emily Dickinson If it is attention that condemns me, then attention may absolve me: you pierced me cleanly, the hollow daylight proving I never flinched, a movement which implies anticipation. I held still. I held on to another love. I…
Keep swallowing. You’re being poisoned, but you have the upper hand, so choke it down your torched throat. You know what it means to be on the banks of the Scioto River with Josh and Nick and a plastic bottle, the kind cyclists tuck onto their bike frames, filled with every kind of liquor your…
What are we doing in the world? In the world, where the children are playing world. Where they drive their little toy cars and trucks up and down the steep imaginary roads of the mind— maneuvering around the oncoming traffic that barrels down around endless hairpin turns— What are we doing in the world? Where…
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