The uppercase motions sustained their forms of cruelty. I tried to delineate fictions, But the math of things was small. It did not give me room to take my cup. It did not give me room to speak an answer. In the diluted sunlight, a world rolled off. I barely recognized the sinking myth. It…
In the middle of the hunt, I must excuse myself, and all through silent polished halls feel the dog-breath on my sling-back heels. Being flesh, being always hungry, I mostly swallow what is thrown. But am not glutton, but furnace burning punishments. And know the protocol for butchery, but cannot call it to my mind….
loquitur: Anton Raphael Mengs Court-Painter elect to Charles III of Spain Signori, you have my gratitude for the signal honor of this banquet, the learned discourses, as well as, of course, the great distinction of your company. “Old Mengs,” you call me among yourselves, and it is true: I am …
Not wilderness exactly open country a wooded valley and the river in it waterfall and towpath footbridge lockhouse a canal that runs to Cumberland beside the Potomac not wilderness you know that bounded parkland with your neighborhood above it stage set by some Luminist where you describe the hour convinced no calendar can register a…
Sludge heart. Pot-metal heart. Scree . . . Some leaves fell. Schlock heart. Chil- blain heart. Piss-stain heart. Gelded heart. O heart incontinent. 24-carat electro-plate heart. Cicadas were silent. Bumper-sticker heart. Foul-mouth stink-bomb heart. Black. Black. Black. And I sang all day. Drop-dugged wolf- bitch heart. And held birds in my hands. Thistle heart. Briar…
These files in longhand preserve . lies I tell myself about shoulderblades . whose outlines I never traced about eyes that once met mine . but did not turn back after they had passed . I arrange them by last name made up when I can’t recall . exchanged when I can . Each tells…
What happened to sweet heat, the sneezeweed, the luna moth and gingham sleeve, sipped Slurpies and reedy kayaks, the sponge-bathed trees? Why are the nights so flustered and furrowed, dusks crimped by crooked V’s of snow geese bored with palmettos? Why does the full moon pinprick the draft, neurotic winds reentering therapy, the light, an…
(July evenings occur as a name repeated.) Strange benefit of geography. He studied me at mirrors but recalled only photographs and houses leaning seasonal (a deluded shoreline). Ascertain bird or cicada near. Awaken to a darkened background clouded North by noon. Here is a reverse. We take of gales and a landscape of driving rain….
I need you to get me a ticket, he said. For what, I asked, waking at the foot of his bed. For the train, he said. They say I need a ticket. Except for the small lamp the room was dark. The air was cool and clear. The first night of September. Do you know…
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