Ach—the gravitas of the hunt. I. Digestive turned blue so the woman said. Said, I write my own islands, and red, red. Was urinary. Under the astigmatic lens of her naked eye she followed the tracts. Looking at worms for a long time she said A worm in its lifetime moves short distances. She knew…
Some name them knees, those roots of the cypress trees in that murky swamp, rising up out of the water, though their legs beneath them, the feet, the toes, even the bodies down there at the mud’s bottom still haven’t shown up yet. So far, it’s only those bold knees that point the way. Some…
Thus what we’ve learned is that our greatest poets were death-obsessed loners who seldom enjoyed the pleasures of lovers despite living in a constant state of sexual excitation. They started as revolutionaries and atheists, or they went to Harvard and voted Republican and mowed the yard. The night sky was starry and told them stories….
After the initial terror of laying out your clothes in front of everyone, it’s where to put the money, the clothes before water or the detergent first or in between the clothes. Your fingers find the quarters, slip them into slots, push and listen to the water, vaguely familiar, like your heart between the covers…
Reagan dead this Saturday the last— the falsifying mind cratered, the brain that was a salt block America loved to lick— but Ray Charles struck down yesterday outlasts him by three days forever now— the basic blues chord a power of the arisen— to the Lord’s child betrayed by lightless waves…
They try to watch themselves, drifting in a white sigh, the boats and trees, and themselves, too, when they think of it, spun from sheets of gauzy droplets with which to tar the morning white and walk upon it. The horizon yawns. The earth is liquid. They can feel it, and not just it but…
Well, there’s the lack of vacuuming, carrot juice spills on the ivory couch, dust running along the floorboards like a pet, veiling the TV, sills, the furnishings of books, shoes without glue, the lack of comfortable seating or dining, the canopy I gave away, childhood desk sold, gold chair left in a spidery garage, rose…
A missing tooth and a fang. A bloom and a sandstorm. A love letter and a trapdoor. A can opener and a kiss. A maraca and a spear. Lowered eyes and a suddenly somewhat disconcerting blow job. A baroque flute flourish and an eerie silence just beyond the cabin door. A tube top and…
In the morning my neighbor walks onto his deck and looks out, some days in a yellow jacket, some days in a raincoat, some days in a shirt. The house is far enough off I do not know his name, cannot quite see his face. I would not know him in line at the grocery….
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