let’s press our words into the clay/ in language so completely dead/ we have to re-imagine it.

It's saying, "It feels as if you've given me your old, your tired and your poor. I feel much older than the years you've logged."

...and on the eighth day

Heel to toe, our bunions are our ingrown medals.

A dark and mysterious account of an ancient traveler seeking arcane literature, and the miserable results to him after he receives what he sought.

At some point we all reach the end point/ of something. Something important/ if only to our fragile self esteem.

Removing the deeply embedded jack-blade frommy naked side, like any slicked-upsplinter, was just a bit jarring on the first bite, on first try, I must admit. I freelydo so now to your frozen-over faces. You made your…

If they are all speaking medicine & I / start speaking French - how / rude am I? Would they understand then / what it is to be entirely left out / of the conversation, unseen?

"...,beautiful, yet neutral, an oversimplistic reading of the people we meet."

Every day, I write myself further away From the East Where we began

[Party!]

In that time when the trunk was getting cleared out and when it became only the empty shell of what had once been so important, many things hit the match. She burned an old black negligee, a picture competing with the likes of a Vargas girl and other thin

A young boy, breathing heavily from running, stopped at her feet, barely able to speak,

Holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a tissue in one hand, a round shape that balances the round yellow burst of light that is her dress. While the flesh of her chest bulges forward and she balances as though in a holding pattern in flight.

'Every raindrop sounds different.' says Barney. He's bouncing along beside his mother, twisting in her hand like warm milk. She looks down at his Big Bear hat and tugs. They wait together at the edge of the busy road. 'How do they sound?' 'Zzzing.…