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Jean-Michel Basquiat Invaded My Dreams

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"the rum tasted of hibiscus blossoms"

January 1980: Avenue A and St. Mark’s Place, East Village

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In the St. Mark's Bar and Grill romance is a speedy thing, a blurred whir of grope, kiss, connect. The tricky thing is timing: to leave in time for the boozy love of the hour to carry through to full, naked contact. Some succeed of course. Others overstay, hang past the…

Cheerful but Awful

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With such a world/ one must invent a heaven

Love

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Trent’s had many phases: Madonna, Bette, leather, water sports, rollerblading, haiku, chicken queen, rice queen, muscle queen, daddy. But religion? This is new.

All there is

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You need buttered broths and to copy old writings by hand by very poor light.

Ilonka's Hagaddah

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So then we had to worry about the Russian soldiers. When they heard we were Jewish, they said “How come the Germans didn’t kill all of you?”

My VaJayJay, The Homing Pigeon

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"The problem is, sometimes my pigeon wants to fly somewhere new- to the beach or south for winter. Other times, my pigeon wants to steal someone else’s lunch or picnic with a stranger’s leftovers. Often, my pigeon wants a good show and some freedom, to be

Something Other Than the Truth

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“I’m going home,” I answered, but the word home seemed inappropriate. I hadn’t told the truth and felt something, not guilt as guilt was far too strong, but still I felt something that moved me enough to amend my answer: “I’m going to the place where I gr

Ancestry.comedy

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all paths converge on Africa/ and Eden, and the fall from animal grace

Rock On

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...fancy the idea of tapas, Spain an' all.

Blinding Light

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Snow sheeted on the river...

Letters, notes, conversations, partings

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Writing as parallel form | Writing a parallel line | Seeing stealing | Stealing seeing | Stealing as seeing

Dinner with Sam Rockwell

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“I liked you best in Choke–you were sexy in a lazy, sort of ‘70s way.”

Wednesday late, Friday early

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I wrote this during a poetry workshop at the Atlantic Center for the Arts with Carolyn Forché. January, 2015. So much more has happened since that stunning week.

Small Change

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Life seemed okay…for the most part.

Fish

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A woman with spirit appeals to men who fish because she is still alive.

Lady GaGa Fucked Me Accidentally

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She stroked the piano softly with one hand and I shivered. Maybe it was the keys singing or the way her eyes were closed forcing her to feel her way to right spot or the sex in her voice. Maybe it was just in my head.

Strobe Genre, Utah!

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Co-polar order spectrum; strobe genre (the disco light of the 70s illumining and eclipsing fiction-non-fiction-non in one "article"); UTAH! a jump from forehead-down to standing fast, a cheer, for genre studies.

Vague Obscenities

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The next day on YouTube, 3,558,019 users watched the clip of Kate dangling next to Jay Leno's chin.

Cream-colored Berets and Big Fish

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Alone on the platform, I waited for a train.

Black Squirrel Poem

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disorderly black squirrels / inhabit upper Michigan

Thumbs Up Jesus

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Good buddy Jesus./ Life coach Jesus. Enthusiastic// and optimistic Jesus, no cross/ or crown of thorns in sight.

404

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By the thousands youngsters swarmed into the streets shuffling aimlessly, many mumbling to themselves, heads bowed as their eyes stared fixedly at the plastic devices in their hands.

Garden of Allah

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(after Joan Didion) (after Charles Dickens)The car is guttering and at first I do not hear him clearly. The antenna is broken and the wipers are loud. he comes in better when I'm off the freeway. “We must forget about material things.” …

Nineteenth Century Noise

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The virtuoso tortures a violin/ in homage to Paganini.

love poem for the homeless man who was killed on wednesday night

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it was your hands—caked with years-old clay & quaking from too much solitude

September Morning

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They were carried out / over shoulders of running soldiers / naked bodies pass

The Sum Above

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The mandatory is not / your friend

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

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Then it got quiet again, the kind of quiet that fills a car even with the radio on and the highway ticking away and the corn flying past regimented and silk tasseled.

When again?

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will we begin again?We are a wheelFirst touchfirst kissfirst heatThey fade, disappear, come back again.Spokes in our wheel.When again shall we begin again?I hold you and feel myself spincaught in the whirlwind of thrill -the world, saturated with your scent.We hold each…