He’s turning into a Mason jar for homecured liver pickle; showing a fine regard for black Jack Daniel’s. I saw him once in a silence so pure I thought of the gulls who stand on the Charles so long you think their soles are frozen flat. The other time he sang, said he’d spent his…
“Am I mistaken or didn’t the seem unusually calm that day? As absorbed as a man tying a package. As it turns out, you might say he was just holding his finger to the knot. “And when I called her last week she said she couldn’t chat, she was bleeding like a bag with the…
(inspired from a 16th century Mughal school painting found in Maurice Dimand’s, Indian Miniatures.) It is the year 1575. Dastan i-Amir Hamza rules India. Persian & Hindu elements appear side by side. One fat assed bird catcher walks east of the painting With no bird or cage. A goatherd and his mistress watch their goats…
The word was somber. What it might have meant, its origin and weight, uncertain under shade as the dark face below the ratified sombrero. Eyes it gave the lie to overshadowed where sun wheels higher than missing trees. The hoopoo’s lim downcurving bill complements the Old World crest, flamboyant color in the unitary sun. Signs…
I You lie in the arms of the snow falling outside the window. You looked out a long time, then lay down. I ask if you are cold. You are. Your body gives off the only light, the bones reflecting the bare bulb in the room of your life whose door is locked. * * *…
Praise to thee great Allah, For carving my beloved Pure as the sand of Mecca, Rarer than the rose rarest. But Allah, Why you make her princess Beyond reach of servant Rasheed? The suitors are at the palace gate Hankering after my love-bird. Her father the Khaleef Hath proclaimed- Let eet bee Who touches the…
No water drops over the lashed edge to ease the dry socket. The pale-veined year dies slower than a nerve, will not congeal. Each morning its lid thickens a hairbreadth, locks go limp as house plants, the tenants disappear indoors. Through film curtains they watch the ice cap creep down where a thin creek turns…
The light settles on your face, white crumbs circling your mouth. You sweep it off the lapels and shoulder-straps of the dead you’re dreaming of. You sweep it from the dress you will marry in. You could gather it like dust, add water and make a loaf you’d die from, and having digested your own…
Sunday: broken teacups to replace the brassiere; the old folks have too much to mull over. I guess I’ll cry for them when it seems as though the crying’s good. Monday: old sots in the willows — the dog food will probably last a year, with caution and a fork without tines. Tuesday: break your…
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