Poetry

Sometimes I touch the cleaner. Sometimes an hourly vole shares the bed and wife with me. Once I sat up suddenly and spoke it: crowned platelets inherit the passenger bin. I believe the precise moment of Rapture is felt not to occur, the Rind of Incidence I made up in the first place. On a…

                    1. There goes a difference between his mother’s death in the shallow woods by shots or hacking late autumn/winter and tufted oak leaves framing her and His mother’s death of disease in the windless cube and pinned to the line bed stand cluttered with spectral elixirs and the carefree agents of interiority tapping on…

Hampered sky, unworldly, cleaving a stranger from me and placing her at my earpiece, and further— what goods move inside her? She wears a theatrical scent like a language, a musk, and she does not wear well. She wears unwell. On the furthest mound, the one cresting above the pond-formation, smitten with wings and throat-calls,…

The sun gives us our genesis, he said, but is not itself the genesis     of our being. Connected. Yet portable, I countered, sauntering down the carpeted hallway     speaking seductively into. My floating microphone. Much like the current rash of pop-     show singers, who may dance. As if possessed by demons while lip-synching,…

Tap tap, you’ve planted a scarecrow at the center of your field of broken stones. Watch it grow, watch it. You’ve nailed her to the desolation tree blossoming over this field where somebody buried seed long ago. Bone hammer, crooked hammer, thing nailed to a tree. What love would look like. What home would look…

Among the peopled flowers my legitimate crankiness forced into diaspora, none have been more far-flung than the aster. I do not understand how such star structures are formed. Unlike me, the aster throws rays blazing from white to pink or purple about a disk that is usually yellow. Flower heads of a composite type leave…

I loved one person do you see the evergreen there in fog     one by one I was taught to withdraw first from him do you want to     know how the mind works under extreme cold ice forming on the     eyelid or wind thrown at me I felt every needle felt every breath…

for Taha Muhammad Ali and for Aaron Shabtai From nothing but his fear, and kiss her cunning brows Who braves the risen salar, daughter’s bursting ripeness Moaning through the sash, he marries to a settler The crown sits on his head, to hold her as he wants For him the dead king’s wife, in a…

The shame of an idea is in its seriousness, a conqueror’s     seriousness, shameful the way it surveys the landscape of remains, laying claim to the vast ruined view and each surviving privacy     alike, claiming its own pure force as the origin of things, seizing even the moonlight on the leaves of half a…