1920 13 7
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Here’s how you do it. First you get a ladder, a long one.
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We are the same shits/
we were in the Bronze Age
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I heard a voice. It was calling me as from a far-off cloud. I listened, holding my breath, and heard it again, though fading away, barely audible. If I hadn't known my name I wouldn't have decrypted it. Three hazy syllables clearly detached with a sigh between each of them.…
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We’re lucky it/
was chunky spew,
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She tells Tuesday's lover that there's nothing wrong with cheap thrills without anesthesia,
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"... he likes the hair starting to grow under my arms and he likes the smell there when my deodorant is wearing off. "
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fat furry marmots who play hide and seek
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It is imperfect,/
eroded by the optics//
of light, space/
and orbital mechanics.
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Flames dance behind glass
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in time there is nothing more important for meto write than this line. It isn't defined in the way you'd like perhaps, but it doesn't matter because it will be true, and you will be true, and I will be the message you get. Some signal has…
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2594119
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Cherry was America's least favorite pie. Her mother made it every year for her father's birthday because "daddy doesn't like cake." America had to wash the bowls, the wooden spoon, the plates and finally the Pyrex dish. Her brother got to "contribute" by climbing the tree…
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The diner on the corner is one of those Disneyfied modern cut-outs trying to mimic the actual thing but failing utterly. The street, a vein of hipness running through an Ivy League campus that is still trying to cling to a time when it all meant something
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No king of Ithaca, but of each/
whining, banging, dust–clouded island/
of focused, physical work
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What's that snitch doin' here?
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At five o’clock Jake joins the crowd at the back door, walks through the slush to the parking lot with Betty Boop.
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not every punishment proceeds / without a hitch
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That’s a long time/
to live with the certainty/
of your death
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The wind is wet today I can't tell you where sky meets sea only that it matters I can't explain why. I've triedCan't see the horizonbut I know that we have drawn itfingers tracing far pastthe edge of blind infinitywhere we sang stars to sleepand pinned our…
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The abundances of age/
are of commodities/
no known demographic values:
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He looks outside, sees everything disappearing like crumbing cookies into what appears to be a giant mouth.
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A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…
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Gestures we would like to make in the solitude of a café terrace ... Early in the morning ... She's sitting there, seems shivering. Grey dress, red scarf. Her eyes move. I try to meet them - small, vague black clouds which pass, without resting, by mine. She drinks her…
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fog settles over the mountain laying a ghostly blue shroud
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The human/
is less dependable than these pinpricks//
and the lunar cycle.
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bullet points about her soul
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In his head he thinks oh whatever when I wake this time I shall have a very fine discussion with Someone special, oh but finding meaning in anything nowadays that's Just too much rich flattery, isn't it, filthy mirror? Inside His head's…
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Bogart frowned, said, "How do you do that?"
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Occasionally, I look down and spit.
Not caring that it originates from
the deepest hole in my lungs,
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