Be it so we were among them. Veins in the fingers that remember, will. Every vacant gaze an arc. Drawn against impassible night. The sky trapezes a decade, one letter hurls after another. Huddles nameless on the grid. Where did the child bright swerve among inky knees. The animals press dumbly forward in a crowd…
The middle of the river closed The main channel of navigation From mouth all the way to the island there You see the light between Fishing boats we call the channel the real thing We’re deciding It’s a point of commerce and pride to be Nobody argued with respect to the…
To the shadow house where the bees look like birds, and an ant’s death on the pavement hums the world beneath. Stamp on the silvery air. Ghosts buck back against their own pressure. What prods at the jaw there? A convergence of birds in a dripping glade? A string of gulls dragging in a hex?…
Some things are damned to erupt like wildfire, windblown, like wild lupine, like wings, one after another leaving the stone-hole in the greenhouse glass. Peak bloom, a brood of blue before firebrand. And, though it is late in the season, the bathers, also, obey. One after another, they breathe in and butterfly the surface: mimic…
what is this daisy doing to the ground it is goring what am I doing to this daisy I am saving this mean black daisy mine into dye or stippling crippling the country its great love landing in a cloud of sorts of course a malodor clot going strangle the singers who will not sing…
You’re not still casting the insides of things, are you? —Question asked of Rachel Whiteread in response to her sculpture “Embankment” To see a thing whitely with edge pour concrete, plaster, polyethylene. Yes, a cast water bottle. Yes, a staircase and a chair. Yes, the space underneath the bed where I…
Thunder rode glories out towns thin things Had we perceptual capacities enough & & lime Had lived here sixteen ten times atomica ten times pieces ten times the situation ten glories ten slender life-giving stories Story time tuned to a circular crucifix score Fixed score scores more
Lie down long beside your confirmation number And be my garden The orders of magnitude will mount And thunder past us This is the part When you put everything away Where no one can tell The difference between the wind And a human being The haze has migrated to the other eye…
Eleven years ago I wrote a poem about looking for feminine protection in El Corte Inglés in Madrid. It seems I was always starting my period in cities I didn’t know well. The first time I went to Miami, for the book fair, I felt a cramp, then a squirt, right as I was about…
No products in the cart.