Dawn marks the wall a thin flange of off-blue An imagined silence Always an imagined silence The speed at which sleep’s fogged dialog withers into the present noun-scape This rift valley A volley of seasonal beacons Window where mind finds orbit • All a world can do is appear Glare echoes glare— the window intones […]

version of the bear window a real gravity well of a ne’r-do you tried to blame on me

If you were, then, like a snake or some other animal to turn on me. If you could like an animal only speak through mimes and gestures and movements. If we all laid down our cocktails and agreed, this was where the line must be drawn, no day without a line drawn. I could display […]

Whatever comes up, gets drawn in. See it here, shaped and trimmed to manicure. That two of three meanings come down to force, energy, force to beat us about the shoulders in the small of the back, tack us like a crow to the barn-door. Force and erosion, resistance. Moral. That jaunty Herakles would cauterize […]

What do you mean, I asked the poem, its gears for a moment at rest, steam leaking from its boiler. Who are you to ask, it replied, touching my cheek with a human hand. Where do you come from, I asked the poem, marvelling at the shining grooves behind it, which seemed to vanish into […]

the world shudders like an escalator jolts up a sudden start men in shirts duck and bob like pigeons on a ledge fishtailed and sly guzzling what’s given granite platforms trap a chlorinated wash of light their blood ran out here these rails these lines this trough through voltage claimed the earth we owe everything […]

1. origin no longer exists as a geographic space 2. you cannot keep it in a jar 3. apartment buildings pull into stations open their doors                   the populace         out and         in                   the platform clamps                   shut and hurls 4. bricks rattle in their brittle mortars and restack themselves 5. you cannot keep it to yourself 6. migrant society […]

The blood thins between us drips loose a surname— not to be alone in failure—we share one shiver between us—a form of memory— even the baby sister wants a fair shake in the cold.

What little’s left, we learned to clean with our guns and our mouths. We hit the target of our own design. But when I ask what’s next, nobody steps up, head cocked for a space of breath.