30 1 0
|
Iris, take us back
We’ll live in the corner
like mice
We’ll live with our
suitcases tucked
under our wings
like termites
Iris of our eye
we want to move back
to your apartment on the ground
We promise not to leave
or wander
|
103361
|
I can feel the souls
of those who perished
here
They’re still here
like old kites
hanging in the sky
tattered, but they
won’t come down
or can’t come down
just yet
because they haven’t
fulfilled their
unborn promises
t
|
98581
|
He was a Jack Russell terrier
hanging like a baby
in a carrier
strapped to my chest
He had all four legs
wrapped around me
and was licking me
with his long tongue
I asked him what his name
was, and in a real low voice
he said
Min
|
5320
|
Man wolfing banana in his car
as an Asian girl walks by
with bare shoulders
showing cleavage
his head following her
until it’s twisted 180 degrees
then he opens a container
of juice, does 3 quick Hail Marys
signs of the cross
w
|
3894
|
They were my children
each had their names
entered in a register,
pencil written in childhood
scrawl
|
1700
|
He looks like
he’s fallen out of
heaven
with all his stuff
kicked back
on Telegraph Ave
amidst all his
worldly possessions
asleep
in the midst of it all
like a softball
in an old mitt
worn out
but unable to fully
let
|
1611
|
They are believers
in a cause
they cannot reap,
sown like dust
in hungry places
so very far away.
|
93011
|
Reports have been spreading fast
that an actual living poet
has been found right outside the
borders of Berkeley
Rumors grew into a wildfire of speculation
Saturday night when one of them
a tall graying older specimen
more or less in the
|
120622
|
my mouth is open, ready to bite your tiny toes
|
1610
|
Soon I’ll be 66.
I have outlived Ernest Hemingway
and Curt Cobain,
two of my heroes.
I never tried sleeping my way
to the top of the literary heap,
as others have done.
I’ve won no prizes.
My work goes unrecognized and
more often t
|
1200
|
So, have you heard
about Tweezer?
It’s an offshoot of
the band Wheezer
|
129930
|
|
89831
|
The damaged sky is not more black than your hair,
Ashen tonight and floating over the land in blackened
Smoke, where the furrows run with milk light
Or snow, blue and white, and the world-ash floats.
Your patient body sleeps and the white pain
|
8431
|
Just beyond the corkscrew slide / the President of Egypt was bleeding to death
|
117011
|
I came late to sunrise. The hills were lit / with goats.
|
