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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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And now the McRib
is back. Two dollars.
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The wind comes up relentless
in the afternoon
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“Somebody told me you write books.”
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Monday will come soon enough to get/
what needs to be done, done.
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159996
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Everyone loves a story of love
unrequited.
But what about the stories
of the unrequited lovee?
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In the summer of '68 my father persuaded me to go visit my grandparents on their farm in North Dakota. I had long hair and dressed like a French symbolist outlaw. Took the train to Minot, spent the night in a hotel (watching Your Cheatin' Heart, movie about Hank…
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My dish was slut ("all done" in Swedish). It tasted good though aroused no draft, of mutton, for example. My grandparents' bed held flat. I filed alone, in realist kitchen, reading Froeding, standing, striding, continent as gym.
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The darkness isn’t evil but invisible/
in the otherwise excellent light of day
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It would wander the hallways after the 3:45 bell, after the last class, after the students had all disappeared with the homework they'd never finish, the papers they'd forget to write, after Nate the janitor pushed his broom through the endless doorways,
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My ex-girlfriends live in a pastel-drenched cabin on the edge of a hemlock forest in Canada somewhere,
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...the scream and the face...
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turn my Dorothy Hamill into a golden shadow
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W here do you think you're going
what'll you think you'll do
running down this highway
that you never even knew
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The old man behind the counter recognizes fear and anxiety in the boy's face, and sees the brown paper bag clenched in his other white-knuckled hand.
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These clouds are what I havewith me. Their language is minebut it is drying today aswe speak. I catch the darkeningsparks, but that's not to beyour concern. I am sure youshall go on. What I wantis to deliver your song. Idoubt it is for anybody else.Clouds are good at…
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Because we cannot know, we keep walking, keep getting up each morning, feeding the cat, drinking coffee. Because we cannot know I'm drinking coffee that morning in Thailand, not on the beach but just off, because there is only one spot where you can get real coffee,…
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Kids are fascinated by me. Adults look the other way. Maybe it's my size. Or maybe it's the stories in the newspapers.
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She cut me adrift
On an iceberg of words
And words melt
As you know
Looks like we may have
Gone out on the limb
A little too far without
A toe-hold on Reality
Doesn’t it?
But I saw the headlines:
Cows Bound for Slaughterhouse Make
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You speak English so well.
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I might wish I was anything
including some dust on the shelf
where maybe I might blow away
unseen like the coming of rust
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The ability to "see the ball" is a gift.
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His hands go up and down on me. You love me don't you he says. I don't know I say.
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Looking at an image of a graffiti on a wall on our computer screen we ask ourselves: what is the image's main graffiti-like property? We might answer: its location. But that is a contextual and political interpretation. There's nothing in that answer which addresses the…
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The window washer started saving pigeons whose feet were wrapped in fine black thread, the result, he informed me, of picking through trash bins. They are very intelligent, he went on to explain. (Right, trash bins, I thought to myself.) People tend to av
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Here the three o'clock sun is an old patched up fellow, with a stained yellow beard, walking in a small crispy rain of brown leaves, looking at something that requires a bit of squinting no one else can see, on the far side of the softening…
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I've measured out our time togethersealed it in airtight bottlesthe one labeled 1998 kept closelike smelling saltsOne whiff a camphor waking memaking me high on the idea of usputting blinders on your infidelitiesdouble vodkas and damaging wordsAnd when that isn't enoughI…
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"Every generation is a new generation, isn't it? What's so different about your generation?"
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