A well-made thought, a coin. It must have been the vista we were after since nobody’s in it. But where was it? It was a clear day, though, look. We must have loved the way it opened out, suggesting some idea, maybe lunch, we thought it led to, without which our life might have been…
Snow falls the tenants gather at the corner Gone are their small poor lives we envy in The lyrical vein the snow falls as thick As soap over the monuments over The benches and the scratched branches the pile Of tires in the median strip the snow Falls like excess paperwork on the street- Lamps…
Maybe nothing is meant to be seen so, but when I saw your mouth, your mouth alone, neither in sleep nor silenced by thought, fear, astonishment at our selves, for we were alone, at last, in bed, not far from sleep, I thought I saw the consequence of things, the having to prevail over the…
Coppélia What does it mean? What can it mean? A man so lonely he goes mad and builds a girl furnished with everything, and yes, I mean everything. Just look: right down to the curl of our disputed provinces, she’s my twin, Alsace to my Lorraine, no blood but oil for beaus who blanch, or…
He goes out the door as someone I don’t know. Not the boy-man I was at 17 but somewhat lagging behind, somewhat further ahead, dressed carefully for others in red and black, his body a deliberate mystery. No idea what he knows, what he says, what he does. I’m not supposed to know, only the…
Mistgreen maple leaves just twenty feet from my looking, my remembering an equally soft morning in Monterosso, woman with left hand in sea, right hand cupping a baby’s head to breast, how feminine it seems, the support, this mist rounding sharpness from bird chatter, this wombing of fence, of farm, of distance inviting me to…
He couldn’t wait to finish a film before he started the next, forty-three total plus the nine-hundred-thirty-minute tv series; refused to commit to any one lover, man or woman; fucked his actors in Munich hotels and Morocco châteaus; left a trail of broken hearts, one ex-wife, four wrecked Lamborghinis, two suicides; popped pills to stay…
There’s something casual about maple leaves. They’re almost mittens, in the first place. They refuse to stand for the national anthem. And when it rains, as it rained last night, a rain I listened to on the floor, a rain as delicate as a shoplifter, they’re moved by each raindrop and resist each raindrop, creating…
Psychic rib soaped clean, skeleton key to every lock in this house. Heartless, this place, as I’ve come to christen it. The wish then abandoned in the soap dish, near the wet bone china. Last Christmas saw us shivering at Lake Erie, stroking the battered nose of a dinghy. Abandoned. Bone- clean, its hull scoured…
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