After Hadrian Go, little sister,Flesh-flap peeledFrom blistered heel, Yellow pellicleSkimmed with a forkOff scalded milk. Where will you go,How far on wind-whistleTo marrow within a creature Not yet bornWhen I become no longerYour bodied brother? Vanishing twin, forever young,No reason to mournAs worms unfasten my tongue.
Translated by Katherine M. Hedeen and Victor Rodríguez Núñez each morning I wonder at my face:the same as always! Shouldn’t we reach the dawnwith face changed?After a new wordour lips should have a different feel! Only the beloved manages such a miracleface sheds featuresbefore the vision of the only otherwho creates it. Oh death that…
—worth it?My soul looks back and wondershow I left behind that tether, which, a burden so long,had become a life more truethan my memory of having been without it: a friend saying, “Ilove you, but not enough,” then nevertrying toward enough or letting me go. The soul says “Go” and I followthat voice offthe edgeless…
Objects heavy enough to break us hangfrom the thinnest of threads. A stray breezeand down they come. But they say that spider silkis five times stronger than steel, which might bewhy spiders look so buff. I know that I wouldn’twant to run into one in a dark alley, or any alleyfor that matter, though matter…
Maybe on the shore of the lakewhere eagles live and breathe again,swooping over toddlers frightening all,I sought a rock that was flat,one to skip over the calm surface of the water to impress the child. And maybe the rock had fallen fromanother planet, tumbled, burned itself to a size human though still full of…
Translated by Ming Di With the key of paintbrushhe opens another door;he asks a flower to invite people to a waltz. Light dazzles the dance floor. To the other end of the realm of dreamshe captures the poet John Giorno, sleeping. What game is it, what strangeness, that experiences time?What is time?A capsule? Frozen in…
Translated by Heather Green VI what do you know the air has come unstuck from uswe are here without starswhat do you know without money without firea sweaty dog in his kenneland rain under the armpitswhat do you know about it the noise liesand dies with each surprisefurniture like springtimehere he comes from far awaya…
Imagine yourself a sequoia, down to the roots, El Niñoshaking the leaves. You want to say invade instead of shake,but that doesn’t feel safe. Roots like those, they stay in the earth: so keep your breathvisual. Paint until it feels right, even if Oregon smokefloats across the Rockies to scent your hair. Your insides twist…
A horse, a horse, my dumb king for a horse. My brand-new horse—the naysaying centrist—for state senate. The suede backseat of my thousand-horsepower hearse for a spare 10,000 hoursto practice basic survival, the fine art of making a slow exit look painless. My last supper for an everlasting grain of saltto dose my days with…
No products in the cart.