Poetry

The Editor to His Stoned Assistant: The pans are too slow and deliberate church after church in the snake August haze and those frigging teardrop doors cut ’em goddammit! Indian Extra: What we read comes through muffled no tempo no pace that sudden cold Stoned Assistant Editor: It’s strange the sense of the non word…

Superstition, more consistent that dog, God or alcohol, was slathered onto the face of a young beauty I knew Nose, lip, tooth, eye, limb, hand and hip were portraits of such meanings as kind, courteous, honest, brave, weak and true What bliss to be in his presence. Safety was insured, as he always rejected the…

Speckled grey smooth belly of a lake trout. Azure swirls, cerulean glaze plum-rose smear runs clear along the lip. What a pleasing affirmative heft these bowls smoking clean from the dishwater blessed with a calm and rightness bless us.

1. When they are babies, don’t put them down, even for the telephone 2. Feed them whenever they want 3. They must not cry! (Colic can be relieved by placing them, belly down, on the dryer, while it is running warm) 4. Don’t make them sleep alone 5. Sleep with them until they are four…

Transience of all things mutability odes ruins something any thing two step. In college I had a teacher he wrote a book One Man’s Meter he sang Keats to “You’re the cream in my coffee” and advised me “Read a good book after dinner every night.”

I chose a forest, once, bridges of branches, animal tunnels, This forest spoke to me—basso profundo My outer balance was maintained by setting Space from fore and hind, in direct proportion to Nature’s inclines Inside, I put my bedroom in the basement, ate in the attic and talked and worked in the middle Rearranged the…

A row of green and blue bottles, the light coming through hits a spot on the floor where the cat lies down. A young woman strokes the cat, examines her own fingernails holds onto her plane ticket away from her understanding. To the assassin’s sleeping brain. To the true image of the universe. To a…

Grace. When the child is asleep you hold me with arms hewn like your wood and whisper: Grace. It is your name for me. You believe in prophecy. You are a proud father. I stroke your forehead, wrinkles lead down to the beard. You are not a handsome man. You want more children. I am…

We always wait for dusk the shallowing of the air and cool aggression of the unexpected People doom their porches like owls Lights fill the ball park In summer this is the only time of day Couples drift towards the river in the haze of each other Night’s unmade bed rolls them out again The…