The luxury of avoiding the inevitable disappears unharmed. * * * the greenness of the night is false to the green of the lawn he said. The thickness of the air is illegitimate if you live in my closet she purred. If you were to travel from this point to anywhere you wouldn’t be here he…
I know you hardly ever leave your room now & perhaps this letter will remain in the mailbox for months only to stare out through the grating, white in that shallow black space, like the moon in the mirror of a one room basement apartment on a waterfront street; its smooth face like an Indian…
Bless you, gentle Perphenazine and vivacious Amitryptillin! You’re my spring fever and my autumn smelling of campuses. You turn my head as two women would who stopped to stare at me with amazement and delight saying together, where have you been, etc. We belong to each other, darling Triavil, in a ménage à trois! I’m…
Ocean currents spill dust Underwater canyons extend to African rivers from the Congo and back to the Orange Canyons Ain’t this Atlantis? No this is Walvis Ridge! Under the Atlantic deep troughs and long ridges Moonless Mountains to Hawaiian Deep and Johnson Island north to Musicians Seamounts and Mendocino Fracture The Aleutian Trench borders volcanic…
orphalese in orle. kestrel khansamah khanjee keyed. orsellic ort. purgations eurydice bulbous. of her golden smock, her tablet ornithodelphid. components enacted. ornithopilous ormazd descending from his aeolian heights, killing scapes with his orisort feet. ork orillion…
I listen at the door. Who’s dying, then? It’s like bird-watching. Who’s going to die next? Birds in the nest. Who knows about all this?
There was in the corner of the living room an album of unbearable photos, many meters high and infinite minutes old, over which everyone leaned in the joy of mocking the dead in frock coats. A worm began to chew the indifferent frock coats and chew the pages, the inscriptions and even the dust of…
“It is a beauteous evening, calm and free” My child and I Are walking around the block. No sea heaves near. No anger Blooms through the perfect sky. The flashing of the wheels Of a passing car is not The flashing of that fate I might have feared, not this Sunday. A page from a…
I make an elephant from the little I have. Wood from old furniture holds him up, and I fill him with cotton, silk, and sweetness. Glue keeps his heavy ears in place. His rolled-up trunk is the happiest part of his architecture. But there are also his tusks made of that rare material I cannot…
Winter 1983 - Digital