Poetry

I had in hand my stamped yellow ticket and passed on information—that I should walk to the farthest end of the auto salvage yard for what I said I needed, a door. Loosely, I had in mind a modern underworld, the twisted, broken bodies organized by make and name for convenience. “Do you know what…

Good luck to the one who finds the dream of a blue cave strewn with big dumb shellfish. Good luck to the one who finds the propellers, the one tentacle inscribed with prophetic runes. Good luck to the one who finds the decoder ring for which gestures mean love, run, don’t even— Say the man…

a small stream moves beneath the leaves     on the grounds of    the university       where an arrowhead or two lies underneath the tables of    foundations and off to the side, the tennis players are like bees collecting on a keeper’s mask     which is how the players look       through the windscreens’ mesh then…

He tells the deputies he was drowned as a boy in a well of holy water, and so has returned this way: full wet, a rattle of bones beneath his clothes, and all manner of love for his fellow man coming over him each time the way a storm comes over a mountain. The long…

Days uncoiling like the hose from her fingers, days measured by the mechanical car buzzing down the driveway. Her boys wrestle for the control box, shriek, their calls tear the air, hush the birds, and send her, with hose, to transmit water against their heads just enough to shut them off. Now only the sound…

Arthur Dove, 1931 I have spent all day with the silver disc of the barn owl’s face embedded in my thoughts & my beloved under general anesthetic, his whole form etherized, calcite laddering his spine, strange thorns in the distinct cave of him. I wring my hands, silly spinsterish fret-motion, I say shoo but still…

i. I say Bora Bora. You are not to say Bora Bora. I say Bora Bora for it is one of the names of God. You are not to say one of the names of God. I— You are not able or you are not worthy. — You botch or you rot (transitive). — Botu-lizm…

There have been many— Who called in the ships— Ships in off the dark water. Instinct one minute— Satire the next—. There have been many. From one vision to the next— It is a long distance. Not just anyone can go there. You have to carry a moth through rain. You have to feign lightning….

Two bow hunters were heading out of the woods after another day without bringing back a deer, when, at a puddle in a logging road rut, tangled in some branches above it, dangling down, they spied one of those red and white fishing bobbers. “What the hell?” the first bow hunter said, but concerned that…