Poetry

An Apollinaire is a person with a million Apollos.

           16.      for Creeley      lexicunt one day fuck will be like love worked out in formu-la-de-dah that spooon that spooon starburst dustn out all over back seat covers. pat boone’s farm. & jimmy just a dream fabian society bandstand america. bennett cerf impanel it. th d a r confess thats how they came (accordn to…

Untimely alone. Where are the clothes I wore? The South Wellfleet Inn comes shuffling down Is this the door I came in before? Sweet Christ, Edwin you’re dressed already in your union blue. I’m in here with these industrial screws down the woodland steps a woman’s torso naked and bruised. There is not a chair…

I don’t dive for pearls and I don’t expect anyone else to dive for pearls either

You swat a bug off a ham shank. Meats hang in the attic like a row of stairs to another floor. You are up here to get a chair so you can sit outside if you want. The pixy little butterfly pins your daughter makes, are in rows in a box. Three were sold already…

The Great Dance,            the Yu step “performed the Great Bear”                              or did      those stars, into the midst of us,                  feeling us out to know the power. Exousia. Feeling the ground out step by step      to know what sort of earth our senses made us                        (casting…

The pears fall hushed in the grass like fat pigeons. At first spotted careful as goldfish, a delicate bruise soon swallows their contours. On the boughs pears clench into yellow. (We ate slightly rotted pears as children, our tongues finding the sharp line between use & decay. Sometimes against the core, a worm like green…

I You have been dreaming for a long time of being me And it has made you so tired that sleep seems impossible so Suddenly you remain where you have been for a long time II During times in your life like this which were meant to be emblems For you to admire in the…

I’ll sit on this porch all night, my gin glass sweating, moths searing their eyes in the attractive light. I might be beautiful, I’ll need to be patient as the man on the train, who waves, who requires so much of me in passing. And the tracks receding, go gentian, violet, toward themselves; curative as…