2015 13 8
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The subway train pulled up and I shuffled on board.
I announced to the whole subway car: “I’m a poet.”
And that was all I needed to do. It was like a miracle.
Someone got up immediately and gave me her seat.
People got in an orderly line and began
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The gulls/
have somehow mastered the art//
of avoiding the nooses of six-pack/
plastic rings
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Our Irish tradition is rich in Yeats, drenched in Bushmills.
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The thumb, incarnate, knows/
the moment of the misplaced hammer blow;/
the tongue, incarnate, the cool invigoration/
of water drawn from the dark well.
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When you return home, one year to the day that you left us, you will wonder if you can do it all over again.
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Cacophony of an engine-braking eighteen-wheeler/
scatters the crows to fences, trees and wires/
in a startling chant of caw, caw, caw.
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Even music relies on what/
you know as music/
for its power to enthrall.
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It was cold in the church. The Lutherans were freezing to death. The Catholics brought their winter coats.
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But it all works out. I guess. Truth is something I'm sure I've never seen before, but the more time goes on, the Less I'm inclined to believe in it. Still I don't want To be one of those giving the finger to God And begging for a showdown with an…
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We were young, she said, it was all in front of us. We should never have settled for this.
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Margaret will take her seven away from his raging Irish hammers slurry Saturday night honks smashing red eyes. They'll board a secret train countryside bound where they sing the songs of her own dead Mam who lived poor in the world but…
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Catherine, after another haunted, bewildering morning wondered if there might be a way to hide from her nightmares. Was there a way to trick them? Shouldn't she try? She drove over the bridge, something she didn't often do, to buy…
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It is a sunny day in the autumn of the patriarch.
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All young and loud and big and I swear her face like a lighthouse lamp, glowing—I remember thinking, ‘She’s drunk at nine in the morning.’
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He asked me to bury him in Vegas.
Instead, I had him cremated in Trenton.
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I've been avoidingyour beautiful fact for years in just the past few hours it seemslike it was the scariest plague on earth. Andit worries me becauseit's something so new that Idon't know what to dowith myself.Yes I wouldn't knowwhat to…
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Your tunamelt cadence / Sank me to ocean floors
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Only last Friday, he was introduced/
around, smiling, healthy,/
a fine young man.
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We watched kids tweeze snapping turtles out of the park grass. They dropped them into a styrophoam cup and called it the snap turtle home. When they grow up they will bite your arms off, their father said laughing.
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One rainy day I walked to an out-of-the-way section of town where the buildings were old, and the streets were cobblestone.
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this reaching, this striving to love like it's there becoming something we need.
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The bird sat there some time. Several minutes. My wife and I grabbed out i-Pads and took pictures.
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One moustache hair at moustache level on a filmy bathroom mirror. A red velvet spread on a big round bed. Dear Ma: We saw a bearded lady.
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She is too stylish to be crazy, is what the migrant probably thinks. And he's right.
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We perform our chosen duty— naming/
beauties and atrocities within
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Neglected long enough, uncalled for/
by the shrinking language of the day,//
my words abandon me.
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It’s a little known fact that eels are often lost in translation – only the spotted variety, not the striped or the common and certainly not the electric.... I think about that lovely hippie girl and her knowledge of eels, sometimes.
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Throw them up there but try to make it look tidy. Try to become a little bit paranoid, just enough that you slightly overestimate how much they think of you at all.
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