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
Tag: art
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: 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
poem: April Is The Cruelest Month
bite off neurosis, This Time I'll Make It -- standingat the front of the check-out line, lime kombucha mozzarellasome kinda Raw, this Time i'll make it -- keeping timeinside yourself, inside your chest, counting ribsthe boss is not your mother she is not your father she isnot coming to get you in the divorce: why… Continue reading poem: April Is The Cruelest Month
poem: headcold
another pink flower day, late afternoon sun slat intothe blinds, weekend of surreality, can't get back my stateof grace -- another kind of bride, anotherkind of waiting. the supplements and gelatin cost toomuch, he has a headache and doesn't wantit, I need a kidney ultrasound before thingscan be knit together. stagnant eternal present until --… Continue reading poem: headcold
5: poem: heat peach fable
5: “sunburn”30 days/poetry deep seeded-downward parts, the rhythm cut on your tonguelike a pit. white-draped girls on porches and the boys, thin smokestacksgoing up, standing on their bikes and racing past: gnats rushedover in a gully of time, getting up again, five or seven yearslater and being too tall to stand: the girls blush, secretenothing-fluids,… Continue reading 5: poem: heat peach fable
4: poem: ingénue circa 73
4: "hallucinations"30 days/poetry the flash is out — leather coat draped over cocainechair and she is sideways, I imagine Big Grand ThingsHappening — the highway outside is hand-rolled and loud, grit in the sky keeps the fear Close & nice, slang music rolledout the radio, teenage summer was three going on four summersago licking areolas… Continue reading 4: poem: ingénue circa 73
poem: summer in the turn
rot-hot, cunt-turned girl in black leather -- learnJapanese! (it's the chorus), turned heel into stage and shudderingout again, a million men/girls jumping to her -- chorus: learnto speak, learn to sing, tear my heart, eat me up, comealive, cometrails in sky -- head thrown back, hair long andshot up with light, shotgun shells of scatteredlight… Continue reading poem: summer in the turn
the last pavilion 