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…

On Boul Miche Idling at the curb In a rented car, Ready to go. But I have forgotten something! It’s my hat, of course: “Of all things Why would Daddy forget His darling hat?” I leave the motor running, Bolt through the great doors And past the concierge. Horns are blowing Out there where I…

     You live among the remnants of an ancient civilization that has left behind it an intricate system of canals and waterways. No one understands the books and rituals your ancestors handed down to you, but somehow everybody assumes that it must be necessary to maintain the waterways to irrigate the rice crop.      Only at the…

Chicory and queen anne’s lace line the way And orange day lilies, spread From the yard of some long vanished cabin. The statue of a button-eyed brown rabbit (When I am almost on him) Comes to life And leaps, excited and light-hearted, Into the brush. The lane is walled With dogwood of course and judas…