the whole point of being a neurotic is you can't outwill the neurosis, the spine-handlingand splindling rises bright inside you,bathtub water fries circuts -- Hestia took the pieceout of her arm and spun it around in deft fingers to recalibrate it. the brain leeches intothe neck into the body outsourced as it alreadyis into handheld… Continue reading poem: sub specie aeternitatis
poem: end of year
wet sludge, and his face, and fingers -- are damp I am not the one who beats all the heads in, I am not the dregs -- stretchedout, across all my life -- it cannot always come back to this. skinis sloughing off, collects under his nails, gathers at the wrists andcongests into lines at… Continue reading poem: end of year
poem: late july
a deep buffering thing, rolling in --- I have mylegs clefted tight, driving, I describethe land as the armpit of the earth flopped intothe arm of the earth, freckled and brown againstflat blue sky: porcelain tile squeezed behindhills, chipping fresco. where are the Experiences where are the Summer Experiences; I reread books I first read… Continue reading poem: late july
poem: In the dark the mind runs on like a devouring machine, the only thing awake in the universe.
on the novel White Noise how effective is fear of death as a theme, if I,two-year Catholic, have previously feared Oblivion but neverdeath: or are these the same? material death, body in shreds: my wish is tree planted in rib-cage, for thismy surviving family members must fight the funeral establishment, sayno chemicals dousing up my… Continue reading poem: In the dark the mind runs on like a devouring machine, the only thing awake in the universe.
poem: surname
really, the world is a small thing -- I was an I seven years ago, now I am also an I: rutted littlehalf-done dreams, the newest iteration blastedthrough head, now I have someoneto tell about it. growing younger -- I swear I keep wanting oblivion: blasted down bytoo big force, fertility or death. taking an… Continue reading poem: surname
poem: conclusion
old man Rodya, or at least the bent-over version Sonya retrievesfrom the railway station, neck shortened into fur coat, handsopen secrets or frost-lite spiderbites splayed overher traveling coat, as he steadies himself against her, says wellwhat is there to say. train sneaks in, awning over them, dawningof little smile: she says, well, hopefully a great… Continue reading poem: conclusion
poem: incredible retelling of an otherwise normal saturday
Alyssa adjusts her jacket; tweed, tiehole, fresh out of normal bad-childhood nowhere, ready to differentiate between graduate programs whichoffer training -- paid for -- and those which, essentially making you an employee of the university -- stipend you, more or less, from here throughend of time, hoisted around the wet trees and the green-gray-bluewhich knocks… Continue reading poem: incredible retelling of an otherwise normal saturday
poem: summer, again, in scheduled weeks
five year plan -- I would like to be better I will be Iwill be better; gingham tuck and plans for shelf behindcouch for line of plants -- rosemary, basil, what next; the pillsfrom the internet naturopath are low-dose opioid blockersand will rearrange my insides enough that I can, willproduce life -- tuck of curtain… Continue reading poem: summer, again, in scheduled weeks
poem: girl writer
there are No Good White Men -- you can only keepthe turn, knees tucked in, i got accepted to the dream literaryMFA took the train into Brooklyn had a latte and half pistachio pastry, brushed the crumbs off, I hope the genre-fiction writers know their place, reading Claire Lispector, keep the cover out while finishing,… Continue reading poem: girl writer
poem: lost in translation
I arrived in Tokyo very late there were no three-pound bags of cherries being sold in summer sunshine undertwenty-third and second street so instead I ate convenience store foodwith my hands under the haze and the lights dropped out the other actor wouldn't accommodate me so I turned inwards and lookedat myself under the three-track… Continue reading poem: lost in translation
the last pavilion 