A baby green anolein the bathtub gripsporcelain whileI shower. Petrifiedsurvivalists, both, wedrip. Used to stillnessin downpours, itmoves only whenI pluck its bodyinto my handsand bend a gentlecage. I’m savingyou from me, I say.Soaked. A prehistoricface pokesbetween thumbs,a spell on the lips—clinging to an ideaof escapethis tiny crisisbounds alongmy lifelinebetween palms likeI’m holding myown green heart…
Written in response to works in Description de l’Egypte From point A to point B the longest distance is travelled bya financier driven by his craving for adventure In the archive of the escapadethe frontispiece shows Alexandria framed by charioteers city-states to the east and west a paradearound the ruins (The ouroboros represents infinity but eventually the snake…
The scent of mimosas and cured algae at the napeof my neck attracts no one but me. The evening’s ammoniclight, busy with free electrons, rinses the curtains to ash.I finger damp calico at my calf and wonder if anyone will begentle to me. Softened by sweat, the calico fissures secretfolds of the vena cava. It…
All winter, I sent letters to old friends turned strangers,ghosts, representations of other eras, statues & facades. I spoke of sobriety & struggle. I spoke of fatherhood& a new masculine energy tended in the intimacy of a circle of other initiated men. Who am I trying to impress?My teenage son calls everybody bro, even me….
Or try toKnowing someday everyone I love will dieI’m practicing Not for death butTo love the labor of my human life Who canTreasure the broken bone and dishThe house in flame or flood andWhat it takes to fix I take insteadNotes from smaller sufferingsOnce waking in a guestroom beside the baby disappointedTo be missing a party…
Again, you are the church of what separates wrestlingand professional wrestling. A little money, a lot of folding chairs.What separates knowing how to speak a language and knowinghow to play an instrument is smaller than the differencebetween the blood on my shirt being mine or someone else’s.The French are allowed sincerity, which separates themfrom the…
Watching it move up the valley in its plentitudebetween the mountains and me, the rainsoaking into each particle of soil, glisteningon the tip of each leaf, like the old mythof a god who sees our every thought and deed—impossible, but why not, if rain can do this?Rain: one thing and a billion things. Listen as…
A memorial erected over a void. Usuallyfor a living person who just vanished, butwhose death seems indisputable. Begin with a shovel, an empty rectangularcake of earth. Begin with a word, a grail to extinguish all hope. Begin with the storyof a child disappearing between his fifth-grade class and the bus stop—baseball bat and glovediscarded on…
“Being Property Once Myself. I have a feeling for it …”—Lucille Clifton
No products in the cart.