Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, Katherine. Black hair, small cold eyes, whom you loved. Cocktease Katherine, chewer of souls. The door blew open and she blew in, a ghoul. Black air, small cold wind, taking everything. Fish-eater Katherine, whose nails dig blood. I’m going to call her pinch-cunt, pickle-lip piss-dribble, shit-smear, goat’s-meat breath. I want to throw…
Of A. Of the abracadabra triangled below the navel’s amulet. Of the underworld still with me as I drive all night to you following a red Trans Am, my beacon and talisman. Before me the mysterious lands of corn and soy. Behind me our Atlantic’s salty winds. O glorious Susquehanna and wild grasses! Here in…
At my father’s request I went into the city to ask for the Senator’s daughter’s hand. But she said she would not have me, nor any man. It was, I thought, a great pity: she was not only wealthy, but very pretty. So I told her that I would stand on the spot of earth…
I. Ancient Playground I’m standing idly by while Denis or “Dino” McCarthy (him of the wire-rimmed specs and the hair like a set of loosening springs) unzips his army pants, extracts his penis, and pisses stoutly into Chuck Gilheany’s brown quart bottle of flattening Bud. He sleeps for now but soon will wake and…
1. Where water meets water, where rain hangs lead-heavy for days before finally deciding to harden and fall, where the nearest road is sixty miles away and that a narrow track of gravel, where the lake is as still as a photograph and has never been photographed, where the trout return in accordance with a…
Powder rises from a compact, platters full of peppermints, a bowl of sour pudding. A cup of milk before me tastes of melted almonds. It is the story of the eve in which I begin. Gifts for me: boxes of poppies, pocket knife, an elaborate necklace made of ladybugs. My skirt rushing north There…
He says, You have to know, huh? Well, I listen to it because I can’t stumble into bliss, Can’t kill myself with sugar. It makes my head hurt, she says. I feel plugged into a box of wires Dangling loose. Sampled rigmarole In a gallery of Donatien Alphonse François. He sits in the booth Beside…
Confetti lifts over the fairground. Happy music, played to make us happy, slows its parade, dims as it pivots at the curb. While I hide in the copse, the outlines lighten, my skeleton, luminescent. I take the thick cup in both hands, drink urgently. Warm wind plays litter across the yard. My company’s shattered glass,…
It slipped my wrist, vanished in the street dark with steps of no one I know, and late, and late. Picked up, dropped in a stranger’s pocket where the hours, yours, mean nothing but kept time. I never asked whether you wore it then, crossing the street when a car flung out of the rain….
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