Poetry

Young, therefore vain & wingless, he letshis father tie a blue thread around his chest.It is before the famous tragedy, the fall. Beforethe imminent sea. The coast still composedin subdued hues & regimented patterns.The abstraction of waves has yet to be mutilatedby a scream. Human position yet to be tested.He, at his prime, Anthony Van…

The cattle dog sniffs around for something to chew& I get it, I do, the small snuffbox, the paper matchessulfuring inside my belly, reaching out for whateverwet thing will not burn nevertheless must burn.One morning, buds on the branches as bloodlings &another morning green, verdant fucking green swooshingin the wind, as if never a cliff…

The Japanese maple has lefther red-handed prints all over town—guilty of fall and of falling. Even Eve in her fig leaveswas not arrayed as one of these—as fallen woman, lady in red with each painted finger as pointedas a scarlet letter A. Everyone’salways looking for the luminous, the luminol, the killing and the kindling,the exit…

we held a slave auction in class today—probably not a state-sanctioned componentof AP U.S. History. but Mr. S made a blockout of the front-row desks, cordoned it offwith backward-facing chairs. he shame-forcedTony Miller above us and introduced himas “item #5.” he’d prepared a catalog:a one-sided sepia sheet with Tony’s descriptionand a starting price. before the…

In some dreams it is possible to visit Uruk and to be its kingas I did sensing all along I was a bad king predisposedto impatience and affronted by impertinence and I know nowwhat I really needed was a good friend of the woods to teach me things Yes that’s what happened as I fell…

It is always there, the blurry dot,the mark, so easy to dismiss,between you and the life you’re focused on,though more distinct with white behind it:a blowing curtain, a wedding gown,while pinning bed sheets on a line,a blank wall in a waiting room, and,late in life, while leaning on a shovel,resting, following a heavy snow.

I tie my hat—I crease my shawl (522)—Emily Dickinson is carried crown first through light that hums.Her country is built of two rooms: need and desire.Birds rarely come near. She cannot seeher shoes or the tops of buildings or the moon.She wonders if she is kind. She is as quietas a student in the back…

Here you will feel no ecstasy, no brightimperative to weep, or to give thanks,or to endure. Instead, we offer solacein what’s gaudy, saccharine, timid, tame:in trees rigidly perfect, Christs with too-whiteteeth, a sunset blushing at its own excess.The portraits here preserve the blind precisionof the novice, those who kept on polishinglong after likeness came, whose…

You have to feel your feelings Right now I feel amused, uncomfortable, tolerant,with a twist in my heart, as if I’m applyingfor a visa to the country of unhappiness and sorrowwhich gets mixed reviews on Trip Advisor.In this waiting room, we are all seedy & hopelessand the elephant gray plastic chairs are lined up like…