It’s a pious coil? It could be But you wait to be sure. Your hair blown back by Hope and teased by failure, You grope the lone desert for Sorts. You feel you know Pubic Hair. You want to sing The correlations between mosquito bites. You want to do math The way bricks do…
Rooms I (I will not say worked in) once heard in. Words my mouth heard, then — be with me. Rooms, you open onto one another in the mind: still house this life, be in me when I leave, don't take from me what took so long.
Somebody medieval—the celebrated Anonymous of Bologna maybe—said that implicit in such an equation as 5=5 is the equality or equivalence (I for one get those two well mixed up) of all things fivefold, such that cinquefoil or quinquereme, let us say, can stand equally for a hand or a classic hand of stud or draw…
When rain falls the crows shut their eyes and colors fade. They open them again in the darkness of their own wings. I stand at an intersection and let the headlights graze across my face. Leaves sink into sidewalks. Stores close, flags come down, but a warm wind rises through the grates. I want it…
O onion, o open, o equal-eyed quail egg with swell yellow lake. O dove and small love effaced by a late disbelieving. O even and anti some ever come sun fall, red gloves and the rest on a day, on a divan, a sofa, a longue bit of chaise flecked with lint speckled blue (only…
The gear gold inside the golden-case clicks A hidden hour equal-to (an inch Of snow—between two hands, quartz-like—falls) equal-to The hour seen: jeweled-movement, minute-gear, in glass The main-spring winds the hour in the eye. One hour, measured twice: less equal seems The snow untracked to the foot-trod snow. I know. I know I know. I…
Once was a story of following following. Return is rarely the reverse I value or so I led you like a zero out the zoo, toured it twice at once from your regard, and came to understand. Roughing it, a captive is another whom a captive asks, which one of us stays wilder. We watch…
His anguish was the squeeze of strangers ravaging his language, English, his anger, strangled, snapped him free at twenty-one to choose a certain simmering neighborhood in the city for revenge, carnage, and split the scene with a new name, gunman, lavished on him by newsmen as he crossed state lines, tuning in. A small boy’s…
Terrace Storms are inconsequential. A terrace always reverts, loyal subject, to the sun. Hallway A tunnel of betweenness. Here anything can bed anything. Back Fence I only wish it were higher. Don’t watch me. Front Porch Goddamn Astroturf, who’s it trying to fool? The one lone step, a mendicant slab— ungenerous to a fault, fatal…
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