Poetry

It’s alright to overdress for the riot. Your rage is stunning.It’s alright to pursue the wrong pleasures and the right suffering.Here’s my permission. Take it. It’s alright to replace a siren with a bell. Let the emergency make some music. It’s alrightthat the meter reader broke your sunflower in half. You knewbetter than to plant…

for the ladies at Florence House The fact of April first means nothingother than the rent check is due & spring or not we are all tenants of snow today& I have no children under my apron nor angelsgracing my back & the women chew slowlywhile it thickens beyond the window pane & the fact…

You’d better believe that if I hadn’t already tied the knot                on these sweatpants I’d be out there in the mad brick city                                painting my lips the only red my complexion will allow,                maybe with some heels on, I could probably find some heelsor at least borrow some, well first make some friends                in this city that shuts itself…

i.m. Kathleen Roche (1982-2018) God of all comfort, closeyour hand over the tract                                                 houses of Livingston—lay shadow on the subdividedland of Christmas lights                                                 and cul-de-sacsand minivans—withdrawthe mortar from the bricks                                                 that bind the staggeredtownhomes and crackedchimneys over white-trimmed                                                 condominiums—swallow the mailboxesdown into the loam beneath                                                 each quarter-acrelawn—pull back the plotsof mulch and patchwork                                                 sod until they spilllike sewage through the streetsand…

The sickening canal retains a gruesome beauty. Today, the weather has waxed psychotic—chilly rainy in the morning, humid and dense as it grew hot, sunny for a second, and now the bluish gray of photographs of Eastern Europe flows from the train bridge into the sky. On the surface of the water, a cascade of…

We feel we have felt felt. We have felt what felt we have. Have felt. Feel. We feel what felt we felt is not what felt felt is. What we have, we feel. What felt we have! Feel! Feel not what is, feel what felt is not. Not we, not felt. Is is is? We…

Picture civilizations like sparse swarms of fireflies, space/time like the evening air in which they’re suspended. Each bug flashes independently, never simultaneously, randomly announcing itself without regard for its distance from another or for the duration of its light. That one there! That one is us! Doesn’t it lately seem a foregone conclusion that the…

for Anna Maria Hong   The master believes himself superior to his slaves. He desires comfort. He considers security and prosperity his birthrights. He prefers to ignore the labor required to create his luxurious world. He often fails to acknowledge the extravagance of his environment by comparing it unfavorably to the surroundings of more prosperous…

Ooga booga jigga bigga nigga ziggurati bati boom boom tutti fruitti Djibouti mama comma no drama Obama from a llama fonana fana Rosannadanna chapati do be doobie Debbie Rebbie covfefe lemme crammalamadingdong ching chong Chobani Thulani Donnie honey Damiani Romani in de windy Indy bindi— do the Lindy, Cindy. Damn you fam, you slam a…