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My Hollows

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Let me say these words now

untitled

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fallen leaves, broken limbs fron wounded trees

Jukebox

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Once a psychologist told me a story

Like Father

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Over a decade of late nights and alcohol fueled anger, and still, sometimes some image or smell would click the panic button,

Midlife

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Even suffering all of these conditions, Louise considers herself one of the lucky ones, as she’s learned there are pills, drops, and creams for all of her problems.

No More Little Bridget

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I spend my time sitting on the back step—poison oak reddening my arm—under the eaves, waiting to escape.

The Page Turner

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Her hands are swift and supple as swallows, bouncing off the keyboard in rapid-fire constellations of notes, because she's playing Bach's Concerto no.1 in D Minor, which is busy and prodigal and all over the place. She is Polina Olegovna Osetinskaya, a beautiful Russian…

Giving Birth to the World

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Life's a contradiction.

so far from home

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Its colour a spectral silver shimmered in the pale afternoon sunlight which glinted on its small red and blue insignia so far from home. The landing stage of the unmanned Viking spacecraft had broken away from the main section on schedule before starting its descent through…

line breaks

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I wish

Cabinet of Particulars

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incoming made of dust

This Story Will Break Your Heart

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The first years of her life she had been owned by a bear hunter and trained to hunt bear, a terrible turn of luck for her.

American MEOW

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No American ghosts are friendly. I hate to be the one to break the news to you, amigo. American ghosts speak in blood and smoke signals and guttural cries. American ghosts MEOW.

fork

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xxxxxx

Here, You Cry

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Once a week the kids at school got ice cream and popsicles. You didn’t, you never had ice cream money.

Real Time

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November days

More Homes For America

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Wake

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At my daughter's wake Mr. Aleford, her teacher, poked out his pointy nose, sniffing my cologne. How could I be plastered with this, at a time like this? Well, dear Sir, Two reasons. One, to hide the booze. And two, because my wife and I had made feverish love that…

Borderline

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You slipped me the key

Past Forward

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Shivers of desire, bristles of knowing

FALLING MAN

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Steve Kramer was a brilliant young artist on the scene in New York in the 70s when I was starting out as a writer. He built little electronic dioramas displaying stuffed rats in various bizarre settings. Flip the switch and they would get fried in a little rat-sized…

The Femur

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In the desert, among mauve flowers growing feverishly in the ochre sand, a bone, completely bare. Without underwear, without a shirt, nothing. White as a small cemetery ghost, eroded with age, the weather, the vicissitudes of life. It was a femur. I put it on my desk to…

The River

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The sinuous river of your childhood. Do you remember how it slid between your young legs before winding away, making its lively and bubbly sounds. You would have made it light-headed with your games and screams. When you lingered late in the afternoon after school, and you…

No New Clothes for the Empress

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Because I was not sure if the poet had said yearn or urine, I zoomed in on her mouth as she commanded the lectern...

Pleaser

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Yes keeps falling out of my mouth

Wings and Lace

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Feelings can't be measured, can't be weighed, can't be evaluated. I imagine invisible wings flitting inside us close to our heart like butterflies on flowers. Unpalpable, elusive, colourless lace. I'd like to be able to touch them, see if they're hot or cold. Perhaps…

Barely Spring

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On a business road

Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?

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Marcel Proust had never been to a big-box store before. He was dazzled by the sheer size and scope of the store and the seeming impassivity of the shoppers. So many products, so many shelves, such strangely intriguing examples of the human condition. The people seemed…

Iron Mountain

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1942

The Tertiary Stage (he probably thinks this poem is about him)

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They say his irrational outbursts and insane rantsare the results of untreated syphilis. Well, thatmakes perfect sense to me. I've always thoughtof him as a tessellated spirochete, a narcissistic chancre,festering pustule of a blistered imposthume. And whywouldn't a…