3182 20 15
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In the air a shining heart, wet lungs releasing and releasing, your sweet milk head, your pulsating skin. Only an inch separates us. A shimmer of hot air trembles like boiling water above the highway. There are seeds floating in the sky. These things will become other…
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15642011
|
the frost has made all tender greens bow
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27262012
|
We’re friends and all but we’re just me and him friends, we’re not the kind of friends that you bring to supper.
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16602011
|
The nearsighted world/
puts on its lenses
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25772012
|
I'm Alice invading the garden,
looking for souls among cards
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26872022
|
On the way over, on the ship, I met a girl from Cleveland.
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19912015
|
Feminine, safe, though disembodied,/
she shapes your life in ways/
your mother never could.
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28782019
|
A portrait of my sweetheart drawn while she is asleep: a passed-out angel illuminated by the light of dawn coming in from the bathroom window, one of her shoes missing.
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29352015
|
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2518209
|
Eighteen-layered canvases were prized by both of them, regardless of whose work appeared on top.
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17462015
|
Falling Water almost fell./
12 million dollars later//
it will splay itself a little longer
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16502012
|
The eyes, luminous and large-
each an infinite bright blue ocean
Wind ruffles feathers
My ego and vanity also/
encourage me not to wear a mask.
An aberration/
that general circumstances/
will remedy, and soon.
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20722013
|
There’s / no crying in poetry!” says Coach / Bukowski
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2615207
|
Well, it’s a cold dance we dance this morning. You are up at the crack of dawn and the bed is empty even before you leave. I pretend to sleep so I can revel in the delicious morning ritual I know will be ending soon. I hear you brew coffee, shower, tal
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7672021
|
She bought a lamp that looked like a woman's leg in a fishnet stocking, you know the one, to provide warm, yellow light under her desk.
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25512015
|
Arriving at the pier I see a sailboat in dead wind.
"That is pathos," Magritte says,
pointing to a barnacle.
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13432019
|
Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch
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2669209
|
Something about the Garden of Eden. That it isn't really a garden, and I'm not even sure what Eden means.
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23362012
|
...I pray for the animal souls I have taken -- panther, gazelle, hyena, vulture...
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22602012
|
burnt-up leaves rustle and fall
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16972011
|
Reality for us must be broken so we can fix the one small insect of it we can capture and pin, wriggling.
|
22472017
|
My glasses fog up every time I go to collect her from the pool. I'll never get used to glasses. When my sight got suddenly worse the day she was born, I didn't tell anyone. As she turned from baby to child, my love for her grew, and my world got smaller,
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28612013
|
disorderly black squirrels / inhabit upper Michigan
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27282013
|
I heard today about your friend
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19512014
|
In the bearded sun, I see a golden goat.
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43252011
|
Maybe you should consider a few more things before embarking upon actual rescue, like: Is the victim hot? Not stove hot, idiot. Beauty hot. Will this be a triumph to save this person (like perhaps they are some Nobel laureate), or are you risking you
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17082012
|
I say her- it might be him-/
but from a distance I supply the details I prefer.
|
1907208
|
Phoebe-Lou Adams wrote this of them
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21122011
|
...he thought often of the rollicking waves, of being pulled under, of being weightless and senseless...
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14502011
|
There was a form to it, not reproduction. I wanted to write Moby Dick without a man in it. [I wanted to write Moby Dick with only a woman in it.] But I didn't do it. It's like a seven-year diary, and it did happen. I might write it as memory then.
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