Poetry

Polymer on canvas Funhouse colors ribboning in long curls a cornucopia's plenty displayed at the state fair we're winning all the color games on the first try, stuffed animals pour out of our ears, glassware trails clinking in the dust, we are indefinitely orbiting ellipses to go on like this forever the centrifugal force that…

for my friend Joseph Kahn; born 1950, drowned 1982 Walking the floor after midnight I leaf through your pharmacopoeia or a book on stars. How I love the night. It should always be night, and the living with their TVs, vacuum cleaners and giggling inanities silenced. With here and there a window lit a low…

on whose leaves you can write your name— or not, if you prefer to admire the integrity of the smooth green skin that can withstand salt spray and the Caribbean wind. Privateers used them as playing cards, and the penknife of the passionate engraver keeps reminding them Pedro loves Maria, the ovate heart that he…

Acrylic resin paint on canvas The fire, the dusky water-lily edge on the horizon erect, examining the realm of Circe a sea animal flicks to and fro now here, now out of reach. “Come to me,” yearns Circe round red mouth bleeding song like night jasmine “I reveal you to yourself I tell you what…

for Henry Johnson Thereafter, his lecture on graves. Yet these are not graves. His lecture on well-organized hell. But this is neither hell nor organized, even to form discernible shapes. A handout: we reconstruct slowly, roil of body on stacked body. And heads, oddly floating to a surface, caught mid-scream and never like Orpheus. The…

Coming here is like returning to Europe. The cathedral, marooned among the parked cars, dates back to Drake who tried and failed to take the place. Cumberland brought a fleet and stormed the handsome fort: plague caught him there, unclosed his grip. Came the Dutch— these walls withstood them: their masonry is still good. Down…

Go figure—it's a knitting performance every day, keeping body and clouds together, the sky grounded. Simulcast, ecumenical as everywhere, stay and hedge against the bet of bouffant space, you're the binding commitment so worlds won't split. Last week we had Thanksgiving. The post-cold warriors held a summit full of East-meets-West high hopes. Why not hold…

The dead are beyond caring. But Beatrice Is not beyond caring. She is not dead. She says to Death, “You are nothing to me.” She writes it down, “I won't stay.” “I'm not old.” “This necropolis is a disgrace.” “I don't know These people. And (besides) the country is cold.” Poland of Death! Our mother…

How many times in this family rain have I wanted a sudden shelter, the phone to ring, a blanket of pines 12 feet above my head and growing up thick 50, 60 feet. No rain then would get through. But the heedless rain comes down. The wish for shelter, confused under this flood of water,…