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…999999…
The passive voice is speaking. Quietly, quietly, what it knows it knows. Today we are inventing a language, starting with nouns, our favorite. Today we are thinking in blue, today we are thinking in numbers. What is this thing called thinking? What is this thing that will not act? When did the machine start, and […]
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Answer
That hand hitting the door taught us to stutter one or two beauties to scare off the boogies. I’ll try not to say, “Passivity and abstraction got us here; language and materialism probably won’t save us,” as I bury my head more deeply in that knocking, but I probably will say it, or less. What […]
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This Poem for My Sister
And we wouldn’t have to call it Girls’ Night and it wouldn’t be. Leave your things behind. Choose a place to meet. The road turns into a University and we wish we were students. Teach me, whiskey on the soccer field, October. The road is long and full of terrible conversation. The road feels our […]
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Drain
an eyelash in an otherwise white sink
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I Put Some Childish Things Away
Peter was there, too, when I screamed about the gobs of the modern to my eighth graders. Peter listened with my students and accepted candy. He was Saul, the first king, to me, not the persecutor. I want to play chess with Timothy. I don’t care what anyone tells me. That religion which would have […]
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Living through a Fatal Crash for George
this is the first of many questions ‘the narrow frightening light, before a sunrise’ that moving across California New York, Mexico, we can trace a politic of revision choices made while young – the directions – given or sought out in distress, as a condition remain words in a series, a method responding to memory […]
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Occasional
Another endless American winter in which I rarely bleed. (A blue broom accrues dust in the corner. An elevator levels with the floor.) As if the ocean weren’t a place from which you carefully needle me.
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The Phosphorescence of Thought {The Bone Yard, for Jeff Clark}
Eleuthera. January. Bahamian berries sweeten slowly over the winter season but March is arid & the berries grow scarce. The island’s scrub secretes afflicted woodland warblers whose rapid wintering movements researchers track in twenty-one day stretches accomplished by tiny radio transmitters a half-gram heavy one angel-hair wisp of antenna extends from held to the body […]
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The Architect
1. beloved of the page balsam juniper those that appear as crucial, rudimentary reasons for tapping the surface of water utterance a barren geometry where each is a beginning in design the draft drawn-blue remnants of music self-imposed […]