2006 17 14
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a chosen cantaloupe a child let loose . . .
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The nightmares started in the seventh month. I have always been a deep sleeper and one of the things that comes with that facility is an inability to extricate oneself from nightmares.
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“Stop!” I shouted. “I want to get off!” The toothy horses showed me the whites of their crazy eyes. “No, no”! they chorused as they whirled around and around and around.
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Street mime in white face and white gloves, trapped in invisible box. Tip jar empty. Marcel's solo-dancing the tango now, teeth clenching ephemeral rose. Passersby pass him by.
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It shouldn’t take that long to count/
to six but when the six are cats, arithmetic/
assumes Heisenbergian properties/
as the objects counted defy the count.
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Major Chaos came here one of those hot days. I was washing the floor, wearing old clothes, when he knocked on my door. Since I don’t have many visits, I let him in. At first, he seemed like a soldier, but upon reflection I realized he was a big green fr
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When you move to the music of a woman
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I loved to visit my grandparents when I was a kid.
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Balling my fists, I banged them on the retro-formica tabletop. The taste of pufferfish balls in an oleander-infused reduction with a seaweed and pomegranate side-salad tossed in a geranium-rottweiler vinaigrette rose in my throat.
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...swallowed like a radiant yolk by an epicurean barracuda.
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I lean forward and take her two hands in mine. I look into her eyes. “It’s you and only you,” I say. She starts to cry.
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They are running the bulls in Pamplona
this afternoon and they have no idea
how to do this and they are
way too old for this
and they want to relive their youth
and run the bulls in Pamplona
They want to drink like Ernest Hemingway
and run
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INGREDIENTS
--A messy divorce.
--A late spring night in Boston.
DIRECTIONS
1. First, let's agree to call them "Pahkah House Rolls," for the Pahkah House is a luxury Boston hotel. (We'll be returning to New York on the morning train.)
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"Your mother does sailors," the parrot screeched.
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Every Thursday, around 11 am, right after the cemetery where I work receives the daily shipment of cremated remains to be interred, a frail nonagenarian steps out of the driver's seat of his Lincoln Continental and walks, unassisted, up a flight of twenty granite steps,…
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I was not the first to hear the dog speak, though I was, I think, the first who thought to listen.
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“The wound is the place where the light enters you…”- JALAL AD-DIN RUMIFollowing my lithium poisoning by my doctor, I went into a delirium, a vortex of darkness of losing myself sucked into a swirling black hole of space, no language, no way to communicate,…
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He was a liability. I knew I had to ditch him.
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So where was I? On the curb, the stingy, gritty curb of existence, hard on the ass, as usual on the rim of it all, the ledge of success, well to tell the truth far from the ledge but about to fall off, floating on the circumference of meaning, riding a c
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he considers the swirl of galaxies/
with their black hole hearts,
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maybe a day in deep winter
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We are in search of free hor d’oeuvres, me and Jane – Jane from H.R., Jane who is exactly as plain as her name implies, Jane, who, for now anyway, for this company retreat, is my kindred spirit in broke-ass hangover land.
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...He steps back from the abyss,
inner eye envisioning the ink sip of a fountain pen,
the hard, hot brain frenzy that sends phrases marching
toward another bridge between oblivion and art.
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I packed food for a lifetime, clothes and boots, all the guns, and the audio of our poetry...
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“I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.” Anne Frank I know. It's not quite the fun little story you had wanted to be hearing from me so soon after the last sorrowful one took your breath…
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