after Rilke His vision, from the constant cascade of chicken wire, has grown So benumbed it containsNothing else, save for his lastness, though he doesn’t know this. Yet he knows, in the mannerThat beasts can know, that his name is Benjamin, & the name Comes with meat scraps, slotted Through the…
Those of you who’ve gone before how precious you remain how little your essential nature has altered and insofar as it has I can’t grasp how you might be other than you ever were surely you aren’t wholly “gone” though that’s undeniably your essence now to have gone surely you haven’t even metaphorically risen or…
from Thresholds Eating a sandwich at the desk at the window tracing the oak’s bare winter branching the thick lacing network is more an illusion unhindered by the system’s like extensions no constraint to the path each finds in the air. Gray fissured bark makes home for the lichen…
Old news: leaf parchment crackles underfoot. Pine needles, acorns, lichen. The waterfall only a patter sliming the cliff. The slope rumples down through mountain laurel and pitches below to ramparts of slate, shattered quarries, a moss-streaked bluff. We tread on silver flakes and shadows. Downward, ever downward, to the meadow where the ghost lily, late…
Green tips of tulips are rising out of the earth— you don’t flense a whale or fire at beer cans in an arroyo but catch the budding tips of pear branches and wonder what it’s like to live along a purling edge of spring. Jefferson once tried to assemble a mastodon skeleton on the White…
The last of a late night’s argument, the dreadful unsnarling of intent— our what you said and what I meant, and neither of us penitent. After the hours and anger spent, what I continue to resent there in the bed, the dark apartment taking its turn as the respondent— babbling pipes, sighing vent— is how,…
A man with CRCK on his snapback. A man in a BLDBTH hoodie[what happened to the affable vowels?]. I stay shy of the men on the busbecause we know who we are. We are propelled by kimchi and colognethat smells of diesel fuel and demon. Five hours of trance and hardconsonants. I find a seat…
Make a drawing of it, I was told My world of simple sun, bare land She was raised in that kennel on the hill An old trailer, I draw it vertical, tipped up on its rear end There’s plenty light but little shade I add some frenchified shadow around the trailer A loud squeak, ka-pow!…
Like black birds pushing against glass, I didn’t hold myself back. I gave in completely and went all the way to the vague influence of the distant stars. I saw something like an angel spread across the horizon like some dreadful prophecy refusing to be contained, to accept limits. She said, “Are you sure you…
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