slowly, like the last star shivering in the black sky

If you're anything like me you frequently wonder what in the hell is wrong with you. And although it's tempting to take the self-critical route and imagine it's just a “me” thing, this cataloging of one's myriad oddities, I suspect this assumption lies far from…

I'm walking Alfie by the house of the Russian neighbor. His name is Oleg or some shit. He's out in the yard doing something. He's always doing some shit. Today it looks like he's building a house of grapes. He's got the four walls, big green grapes glistening in the…

It sounds so good.

my love for you/ is like the falling snow

the burning thrusts/ of yellow in defiance of the frost

"I would like my pictures to look as if a human being had passed between them, like a snail, leaving a trail of the human presence, memory trace of past events, as the snail leaves its slime." Francis bacon “Feminine …

Lou Reed was sitting in CBGB, I was sitting on Greenwich Ave. and West 10th street. I didn't know him then and I didn't know him later either, but we were both there.

I suspect I’ll make the right decision.

Warning: The cure for laughter is only temporary

You move, tracing the back of the ear to the corner of the mouth with the forefinger to another's face. Trace the line back to capture the construct. Pull an unseen quarter from behind the ear of a child. Go back the way you came following the footprints you left there.This…

XO

If it all just doesn't matter, it still matters to me. I get the tired, hungry sediment. But I still care, that's all I'm saying, if you are a hurt being who for some reason needs me to care. Here, let's give them what they really want: the…

“C'mon Billy, don't be s-s-s-s-scared.' said the voice coming from under the bed. Billy looked over the side and saw a pale white, bony right hand with it's forefinger beckoning him protruding out from below. The nails were yellowed and cracked. And long. Very, very…

a ruminating marsupial? if so,/ I guess I’d be a kangaroo, the cud soured/ and pasted to the tongue . . .

The waves assisted in pushing him forward, until he reached the dry sand. He saw a small resort town ahead. The lights were out in the businesses and homes.

From Thirteen Love Poems and Twelve Songs of Despair, poems from a feminist in love with a man in a forbiddingly patriarchal world. Also part of my 2018 poetry collection Xanthippe and Her Friends