Acrylic resin paint (Magna) on canvas The eye is watching you, the evil eye red-rimmed as the lipsticked lips of Thirties starlets sucks you in, in, in the quicksand path to sleep, lost Dante touring the circles. You have discovered the first “black hole.” Hesitating, hovering, you cannot decide: to enter the gravity of the…
On the way to the village store I drive through a down-draft from the neighbor's chimney. Woodsmoke tumbles from the eaves backlit by sun, reminding me of the fire and sulfur of Grandmother's vengeful God, the one who disapproves of Bermuda shorts for girls, playing cards, strong waters, and adultery. A moment later the smoke…
What I like is when men take a thing— this river, say— and, in the succinctest way, use and transform it: at the fall's head here they have diverted part of the flow: a channel now receives and passes on through its downhill slot all of the directed force that is not there in untaught…
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…
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