1356 4 4
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I will always remember that
picture of you in your
bright blue summer dress,
with your arms spread out
against a wooden fence in
Central Park.
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We all heard the audible skill you had, speaking smoothly of our lives, saying audibly what has driven us, who are huge with night, rising with its origin inside, and clear water running past, beyond, behind, and after us.
To honor, to fear utteranc
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The son stood on the porch with his grip packed. "I'm off to mine me a fortune a gold, Daddy." "Boy, there's a fortune in gold right here," said the father, indicating the ripe wheat, glowing in early morning sun. The kid slumped. "Pop, you turn over a rock there,…
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If you had a choice, be a poet or not,
I’d suggest prose for the lines that you jot.
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“Living rooms,” said the town drunk, “are incapable of emanating.”
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For as long as John could remember, he loved to blow up things. It started back in grade school with firecrackers and cherry bombs—he would put them in toys, tin cans, shit like that to see what would happen. Then he advanced to stronger stuff, M-80s. Skip and…
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In the neon light and barroom shadows,
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The same, some things you Can't explain, most trees Have felt it go bone dry at the roots before. I've learned to let love Go bye bye. You think they don't Want to answer your pathetic knocks, But they're…
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1356 6 5
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Ours is but the very small effort being made here.But it's a good enough keeper for all of usto always remember off. All the tins thataren't really going to save usfrom starving, now are neatly arranged all around, justin case, stacked…
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...She was my first, my only, she broke me in then brought me down. Alone now, I cycle through hundreds of variations of her image like a flip book narrating some abstract story. That’s all she is now to me, an incoherent melange of tints, saturations, an
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“You know, Miss Viv, I love looking at the sun when it’s almost gone. It kinda looks like an orange and apple squished together. Those are the colors. And the puffy clouds under it look like a bed. It’s going to sleep."
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That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.
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Vladimir walked down the little path next to the creek with us. I stopped along the way and picked off a sliver of some of the bedrock that was sticking out alongside the narrow path, to take home with me as a souvenir of my family castle, just to be ab
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1356 1 0
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Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.
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we hover black as carrion birds with a glut empty need seems to me she's fell as thee and knows exactly where we posture anxiously spitting falsehoods on cue twittering like snipes cause there's nothing left to do she might have spent her whole life just
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He said, “It was only after I broke my neck and even like maybe a year later that I really started realizing that I had something to say.”
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We have become//
the sum of our appetites,/
the growth curve of our dominion.
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There it was
One abandoned high heel shoe on the sidewalk
Could have been
Some kind of robbery
Though
Maybe it was just
The beginning of the
Walk of shame
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I am tripping on poetry.
Purple ink drips from my eyes like ergot of rye.
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Slowly, she eased me
into my place
where I melted
into the dark seat
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an island hidden in the sound holds treasure
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then all crawl out from the wreckage
to begin a dance lasts all night
so by morning we'll be tired
surprised we're still upright
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I loved her when she first came calling in the sodden dawn of spring. She was a strange and dangerous flower. Together we drank up all the money. The days staggered away like drunks lurching down a flophouse hall.
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After all, if she could get through World War II with no more than a couple of letters and numbers on her arm, she could, sure as hell, get through this.
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"Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of the angels."--William Carlos WilliamsThere is something beautiful I want to say to you that doesn't seem to make much more sense in a box of clever words like this one. It feels closer to…
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