One of those pizza-like images of the moons of Jupiter before computer enhancement is how I look to this moth, since that’s how everything looks (see Monet, etcetera) before the brain, with help from personal history, cleans it up. And this moth, the poor trustee of one small fraction of a thought, has got no…
We saw it on the side of the road, its back legs splayed like scissors that have come unhinged: a rabbit dragging its ruined parts, insisting on the sweet grass beyond the curb. We knew it was dying, Susan and I. We said We should leave it, as we stopped down the road and asked…
Fatherhood is like dying. A flood of days pools at the neck. Glub. He was born on the th of June. In the movie version, ghostly Jennifer Jason Leigh sits at the bus station, strung out, penniless, blowing cigarette smoke at the bruises on her distant, fetal legs, and dreaming of an Academy Award. Careful…
Colors get married and dance steps try but a dance step is selfish. Diagrams make dioxin look like a six-sided dance with carbon prongs but dance steps won’t build up over time. Some of the white leaks out, a strangeness we can’t recognize till marshes resemble these rheumy stanzas but unchosen. Dioxin likes breast…
for Gregory J. Pamel, M.D. Dawn is ugly, a fug over day, a tarpaulin on a top-of-the-line motorcycle. An amaryllis has a hideous nativity: two shoots peer from the bulb frantically as a chick peers out of its ovular jail. Beginnings are rarely pretty: think of sperm, woolly mammoths, pre-atmospheric goo. Beginning, too, is the…
A deer was on Linwood and I asked the forest to come and retrieve her, curl its slow hammers around our houses and decipher brick into scraps of clay. My hardest wishes are for and against ourselves, delicate locusts, ravenous flowers with an appetite for even the breaths between the spaces. Say you are alone….
Say that moment crossing over isn’t heard Say the hammer-anvil-stirrup don’t unfurl Say the balance was upset Say this balance was upset Say the outside world doesn’t ring Say the mind’s ear listening to an odd man singing Say the moment crossing over starting somewhere out and in Say the balance was upset Say this…
I hate the psyche. Cloudy today: brown, carmine, and blue. I’m having a devilish time controlling my body’s two gods: theatric, tutelary. Last night I decided again to be a maniac, risking brain fever, like my father, whose temperature once rose to 108: impressive. In our house, only the sick were great.
Annual festival of the god of reborn souls and abandon, The young drunken one who dies and in springtime rises: From all over the City families come to the great amphitheater Bringing picnics of roast fowl, rounds of bread, cheeses, Preserved salt meats, clay jars of wine and citron water, Feasting all afternoon on the…
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