Poetry

My friend April Fallon tells me that blood on the exterior of the brain is cooler than that in the interior and that it's in the cooler blood that dreams reside. What do you think? Do you love the head as much as I do? That calcareous shell, the stoniest part of the body. And…

Fra i miei ascendenti qualcuno lottò per l'Unità d'Italia, raggiunse alti gradi. portò la greca sul berretto, fu coinvolto in brogli elettorali. Non gl'importava forse nulla di nulla, non m'importa nulla di lui; il suo sepolcro rischia di essere scoperchiato per carenza di terra o marmi o altro. C'è una morte cronologica, una che è…

Since you read Stendhal, Flaubert, De Musset, Isola Bella seemed a hazy dream: Ramparts of gardens rising out of water, Water nymphs stunned into statuary, Grottos where walls of pebbles and mortar Formed sea shells and sea creatures, Rooms with mandolins and violas d'amores, Balustrades where assignations were made With a nod, a wink, the…

Rain today, rain tomorrow. Today we shotgunned a copperhead coiled near the front porch, blasted it in half and the head end crawled under a log. Yesterday the Supreme Court said it wanted to kill or enslave my daughter. I exaggerate, I always exaggerate. I cleaned the shotgun with a wad of oiled rag and…

Sono sempre d'avviso che Shakespeare fosse una cooperativa. Che per le buffonate si serviva di cerretani pari a lui nel genio ma incuranti di tutto fuorché dei soldi. Non può ingoiare troppo la sopravvivenza. A volte digerisce un plotone, tale altra distilla poche sillabe e butta un monumento nel secchio dei rifiuti. Produce come i…

Lost in Gravedona without a map, You ask directions in handicap Italian of a stout old woman. She laughs, “Stop struggling, come in, And whilst I think them out, I'll make us tea And, if you don't mind, have a chat with me For I'm half-Welsh, half-Genovese.” Her father built this house, planted trees “That…

Too conscious of our need for pillows, he rises from bed to walk the street. No need, he thinks, for underwear or other gauze to dress his soul. Because he is alone this late at night we can forgive his need for walking out beyond his robe. He is that near to seeing himself as…

Poco filo mi resta, ma spero che avrò modo di dedicare al prossimo tiranno i miei poveri carmi. Non mi dirà di svenarmi come Nerone a Lucano. Vorrà una lode spontanea scaturita da un cuore riconoscente e ne avrà ad abbondanza. Potrò egualmente lasciare orma durevole. In poesia quello che conta non è il contenuto…

Nature is never wrong, the lilies say, Simply alive in the pond, life goes on. Despite carnivorous violence, firestorms, We are porcelain quiet. Sit on this bench, Listen to the Baroque Ensemble play Music composed during the French Revolution; cherish the bees Closed in our petals, close your eyes, Close them, close yourself in these…