Poetry

The two-person elevator that smells of pastries makes my lover so close joy in him is sealed into my childhood. Days, dogs off the leash bark at fountain’s aerial braids of water. Nights, letters leak through a shutter. Visiting my country I am always a stranger but distance is familiar and light. In this happiness…

Your beautiful pink asshole breathes when I breathe. All the words I want to say I want to say later. Let’s cheat on you with you. Is it possible to completely cover someone’s body with semen. Turn over and put your head on my stomach. You respond to every gurgle. You say we have pickles….

Fifty years ago my mother’s hands held this detective novel. She knew the world included secret passions, vile schemes, threats. Who killed Lili Godreau? The question should not be left unanswered! From Poitiers come two young detectives, Piéchard and Boivert, they are not stupid but they lack intuition. When a second murder happens they have…

It was time for me to go. I drank a beer and a whiskey and should have been sipping Italian sodas, should have been home watching an old movie or reading Twain but I decided to feed my limitations instead. Get a little drunk. Get a little sad. The woman sitting next to me calls…

Here is a tawny doe who chews a reed’s tip; behind the reeds, a lion whose red tongue droops. Yet in the doe’s prayer, the lion is a singing bird, and in the lion’s prayer, the doe is a flowering tree. And in the bird’s prayer, the tree that blooms incarnadine and evergreen, is our…

(script for ten voices) Light Rain: Plink, plink. Nothing counts for much. Pedestrians: We might go get a sandwich. Do we have time? Sure we do. We might go and buy a jacket. Life: I am long, I am long. For you I am long (even if not for a few who suffer weird disasters…

Picture a city and the survivors: from their windows, some scream. Others walk the wreckage: blood and still more blood coming from the mouth of a girl. This is the same movie playing all over the world: starring everybody who ends up where the action is: lights, cameras, close-ups: that used to be somebody’s leg….

A waxing moon, tail-wind of a return, but to what? Life on the telephone, letters typed on a computer screen which no one needs to file or hide or burn at the storm-center of emergency where there is no coherent narrative. With no accounting of my hours to give black holes gape open in my…

Swear you’ll go as deep as you possibly can, my wife said before I set out on the submarine voyage. I promised her and donned my gear. The paparazzi followed me down, but one by one they drowned. Starfish nibbled at their flesh and little bubbles rose cheerfully, heralding their demise. I was too busy…