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When I was fifteen and we were moving to Mississippi, my boyfriend in Canada told me I was going to live in the swamp with the alligators. I didn’t understand why my father would pick such a hick place. Rob gave me his cricket bat to hang over my bed, a
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The Buddha on my wooden desk says all things are Chaplinesque, that all's a self-containing joke, a cube of ice in a glass of coke, a sunbeam dragged thru autumn leaves, the residue a lover leaves, a kind of vein,…
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Everything is bound to change like / a damsel to the tracks.
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My table offers up the gutted calf/
with carrots and potatoes yanked /
alive and whole
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A year after we'd last spoken I can still remember your commentary, our ill-fated reunion at the baggage claim forever immortalized as this solitary instance of unobstructed joy.
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One day it was boring / to be alive.
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It is claimed we choose/
conditions of our servitude.
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"I tell you about ten other men
who want to love me and two I could kiss
in the smoking room of a jazz club,
you wonder if I’d love anyone."
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When the full moon changes trajectory and comes close it pushes you to different gravitational fields
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Anson Chi/
tried to kill my wife
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in their hunt for desires not felt on either side of the crescent /
called Gowanus
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They say
it was like an elephant
married to a dove.
Imagine, me,
a dove!
Ridículo!
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“Not all the birds are to be trusted, and there are other spies more evil than they are.” —J.R.R.Tolkien This may well be our own about time, time to walk out that comfortable front door forever into danger. Nothing will ever…
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I was little, very little, when Happiness went away. I moved the entire earth, walked in the ferns, poked in the river. Happiness had disappeared. I looked to the sky. I remember, the sun had the porous face of an orange. Not unlike my skin. My eyes fixed above, I saw it…
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A pinprick breaks the black/
and pins the spin of constellations/
around its still point.
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You left for the glittery wild of West Hollywood. I guess L.A.'s off-limits now. My heart goes fucking tachy when I drive over Kellogg Hill past Forest Lawn and see the skyline glowing through the rainbow haze of sunset. You're out there, out in the…
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Cultivate your vaginal tears
at the gates of Thigh and Holy.
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She asks if I would like to join them.
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Yet tenderness resided here
among the canvases,
the tubes of paint, brushes, and candle wax;
the splatters of discarded ideas.
We made love the way people said prayers
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Two weeks after All Souls’ Day, he trudges through the overgrown pasture behind the farmhouse, his head bent, intent on his footing, a shovel his walking stick.
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Despite what the bible says, Shadrach and Meshach had no third brother named Abednego. To pay for his cello lessons, Yo-Yo Ma worked the subways of New York as a busker. Just chill. After Sal went into witness protection, he yearned for a job at the art…
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It is certain. The roofs are hats for the houses because you wear a hat in the rain or the snow or even and sometimes especially the sun. The houses are curious. They keep their hats on at night. The downspouts for run-off water are strands of hair such as…
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It calmed the guilt in my heart while kids reveled, laughed, and "made time" with the neighborhood girls on that final night of freedom.
No one would talk to those girls again.
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I weighted her so she would be suspended in the water. Sometimes late at night I would go down to the edge and listen to her bump against the filtration system. The sound she made was soft and low like a strange drum.
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Sonia banks on hidden things in the minds of other people, whereas I bank on what I know.
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His father whistles The Torreador's Song in the kitchen; Mirko smells bacon.
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I wanted to watch, for as long as I could, until my innocence, like balloons, disappeared from view.
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I cannot begin to list all the ways this conversation can go downhill from here, so I hang up the phone quietly.
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His middle name was Perceval. He judged the first Miss America contest in 1922. He saw himself primarily as a storyteller in the Dickensian mode.He claimed to be an illustrator rather than an artist. He disliked driving but loved to walk, and preferred…
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Voltaire drinks his coffee standing up in front of the microwave and he likes to hold one hand on his chest where his heart is while he drinks. He likes to feel his heartbeat quicken and then he imagines that he is a machine or something mechanical.
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