Poetry

A person blown to bits do not fold, mutilate or bend.

Milky Way, River of Heaven, River of Shepherd’s Hut, River of Nana, Silver River, Snake River, River of Light, Celestial River, Cloud-eating Shark, Great Serpent, Bed of the Ganges, Heavenly Girdle, Ashy Path, Path of the Ghosts, Path of the Snake, Path of the Chopped Straw Carriers, Way of the Sun, Woden’s Way, Bird’s Way,…

If only a quiet taxidermist moved in this time! Imagine, he’d sew fox paws all night, polish the delicate nails until they shone like black glass. Or a silent movie actress running her old films with shaking, arthritic hands, the reels barely clicking. Why not a crabby postman unpacking canvas sacks stuffed with dead letters…

We sit here on the window sill in the little chairs high above the snow. You wear your summer skin behind your eyes— clear as this window pane.

A god was a time tub and A mane was a name but God mite saw and but a Tub dog—saw and mite a Saw saw dog but was god Was tub but saw a but Saw dan—was a time tub But god was a time and Shut up Art Garfunkel Uskers

A woman sobs on the toilet. Hearing her through the wall, I imagine the pink lace unraveled from her nightgown as she strokes her knees. Upstairs there’s a pop. I suppose a retired barber spread lather on a balloon to test his swollen hands; now he’ll hang himself. No, perhaps two teenagers shyly undressing for…

weeps into a faded finger bowl watches the tears evaporate in air measures the salt each day meanwhile her children spit to keep the plants alive

As for my photographs Print regardless What more can I tell them Print regardless

the curve is a hill pending