the spring is too flat here; there are no grand peaks in the clouds, no witches asleep over grey moors, their brooms spliced out into moss and heather. these are meant to be the wailing times and yet when I stand outside, I hear nothing. there should be the tromping of boots as my sister… Continue reading poem: girlhood in fantasy
Tag: life
poem: tourist
Did the man you met in Hong Kong tell you of the sparkles, falling behind your eyes? Did he tell you that souls are easily distilled into green tea, and tongues can be plucked out and served with monkey-feet and cinnamon as delicacy; that strangers will pay steep money to sit in a tight booth,… Continue reading poem: tourist
poem: the human glory of political economics
there are times when I am fascinated by politics and the rollicking play of the market is a sort of sweet drug, made into a gladiator fight between the two colored corners of this universe, rushing always into bright contact and history falling away in the process as little glass pieces for children to pick… Continue reading poem: the human glory of political economics
poem: midnight in the dream city
she stood lazily in the shower, watching the drain grow fat with the leftover dreams that come off her like dead skin. she and her friends will go out tomorrow, and make castles out of shotglasses and then knock them over. when she was younger she walked through fields in a red raincoat amazed… Continue reading poem: midnight in the dream city
poem: africa
men left africa. i left them, too. i went back to the caravan cart and sat with my white feet under the tarp, and watched them stream out of the savannah, a great dark comet rolling his way across the motherland. i left them, and i stayed on the continent. i stayed alone, but i… Continue reading poem: africa
poem: woman alone
she is standing at the door, waiting. there is snow powdering down and filling his bootprints; it has been a long time. she puts her hands against her thighs, under her skirts. she watches the silent great sway of the earth. the sun is a single yellow breast, pressed hot against the sky. she puts… Continue reading poem: woman alone
poem: what is not (lost & found)
I am looking for him everywhere but he is not even in my dreams he is scattered over the snow in kicked-up footprints he is the smudges on the windows when I breathe against the glass, watching my loneliness fog into my fingertips, watching him always not appear. little girl (asked in broken english) why… Continue reading poem: what is not (lost & found)
poem: gods at small tables
she walked past him in a red coat. he was sitting in the hazing that comes in the dawn. his back to the window and the world and his soul in his typing fingers, the innocence in him always stark and fresh. his leg stretched out just so, his headphones taped over his ears, and… Continue reading poem: gods at small tables
poem: coming awake after dreams
I am nursing a headache imagining that of my five fingers, the one with the blue nail, with the edges dyed blue, the nicks painted with flowers, its color making it a foreigner to the other four. Imagining that this one is happy that this one is all at piece with being strange and being… Continue reading poem: coming awake after dreams
poem: romantics, on the subject of race.
the black boys stand at the edge of the plantation, bleeding nervously into their palms and their psalms. there is a dreadful sweep of fate around them there is something righteous, holiness salted in the plain cloth and the pink inner smiles. the girl, watching, from the shade of rome says how wonderful it looks… Continue reading poem: romantics, on the subject of race.
the last pavilion 