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So she set about eliminating the problem, all the time recalling some newsmagazine program she’d seen as a child: a discussion of hantavirus, nasty and deadly and spread by mice.
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The world has gone crazy, but please let me make you One of my songs. You can eat it, if you want. It tastes better when it's fresh, but you can also take It with you on long journeys. The world has gone crazy, But not everyone has…
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I will wrap up in quilts that still smell of summer sun
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no more trying to keep / the peace, no more trying / to keep every person happy. / Just this: no more.
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Pale like a tracing of a memory
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He hates this body no less now/
than he did at 14 for its pudginess/
and the hair that can’t conform
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we get back to discussing how long a year is although no one talks about what a woman is or a man and they are just there. rocking chairs rock. sitting and spinning, just like spider’s spin waiting for him – to make a coffee.
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I ain’t one who don’t sing verses
Exactly as they seem
But tonight I’ll bring six curses
On that new boy you’ve been seeing
I know I was only your country mouse
And you wanted a bigger house
In some other city than I was in
With your sch
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the emergence of the Beatles and the Vietnam War
sad human electricity
no buzz of any wheel
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The night was filled with voices and signals. Roads not taken reappeared. Driving past the anniversary of my death I passed a chipmunk
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beware the slice of the knife cutting like a curious comet blasting through solar systems down the throat of the bad ass milky way
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The day doesn’t budge in its enormity.
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He was a boy then, barely ten, when he sat on the edge of the pond, watched the ducks swim, made intermittent ricochets. He didn't exactly know what had come over him that day. Whether it had been premeditated and meant to hurt. Or just an impulse of the moment,…
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When did the air become warning?That clairvoyant delft and Delphic sky.What strange and ardent premonitionheld sway? Where were we goingbefore this hard work of constant falling?We were catching cabs and making breakfast,ironing, cursing late trains; hoping the deal…
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'It’s a movie,' he knew he couldn’t tell The Pathogen aloud — it would shatter him, obvious as it was.
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pens loaded with ink/exceeding or equal to/my volume of blood.
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It was by the well on one cold early spring morning
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These little things, they are the hope We are hoping for, they are everywhere. I made this one just for you. Call them feathers. Call them roses. You'll See them if you need them. These Little things carry the good news that …
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Interstice 1 Carved apart for Zion, set against a void,The wrecking dell of yet the Second War,Does Operation Hellstorm fill the floorOf still the firestormed ballroom? We forsworeOur filiality in killing you, and EidBells the invasion's consummation: and besideThe…
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She was trapped in a prison of her upbringing, far removed from the poverty and degradation and ignorance and pellagra and bad table manners and somebody stop me before I run out of conjunctions.
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They’ve got the tourists
On the top deck of the bus
Wrapped up in large yellow
Plastic garbage bags
Riding through the City in the rain
The yellow bags flapping in the wind
Yelling in the numerous languages
At the top of the world
The to
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ghosts keeping watch to ensure no changes;
their favoured tables safeguarded
with a Reserviert card
to ward off the living.
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So I went to see the wrinkled
and rumpled poet, who insisted
on reading from memory, stumbling
through his sheaf of poems.
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salmon sits gentler on my palate
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Next to you, the mother tightens her grip on her stroller. The young teenager tears her gaze from her mobile phone for an instant.
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When we are given eternity, as a night is eternal
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