Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?
Won't come alive ever yet or again? In the mind of Endtime it looks like this: shell, volute, Tabriz, eddies, and tides. Flowers wilt. When you wake, observe the unmitigated trials and tribulations of these tossed things, random it seems. But in the endtime, less ...Read more
I threw out everything that didn't give me a spark
and hung all the whites on the table.
Greens and deep dirt browns and grays.
The sensory titillations of the day
entered each limb's phantom collapse and gait, tremor are you there?
See until you are gone and there is only what you are seeing. <...Read more
It was a nearly perfect morning-bucolic, pastoral-
so I found myself cataloguing my past humiliations.
Really, there was no reason for it! I might as well have
looked for an ant hill to lie down on in a meadow
of goldenrod. I can't explain it but perhaps I thought
that with the rising sun as my witness, with the ...Read more
Like a little lady rattling her bell
Calling for tea
Quivering in the old style
There's a red light in Boston
At the close of day
Like the red light of idiocy
All along the bricks
Of Harvard Yard & a blue
Sky so hard & irradiated
In the way of old cinema
I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic spright,
But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
My worlds both parts, and oh! both parts must die.
You, which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I ...Read more
When the dawn unfolds like a bolt of ribbon
Thrown through my window,
I know that hours of light
Are about to thrust themselves into me
Like omnivorous needles into listless cloth,
Threaded with the heavy colours of the sun.
They seem altogether too eager,
To embroider this thing of mine,
My Day, <...Read more
That we can breathe and not forget
our dreams entirely. In the cold sun
the warmth of timelessness. There is
panic, rest assured, so much beauty
stirring, I want to touch all that
contains me. We know the questions
and the light shifts without a word.
In the clouds, a philosopher's chair <...Read more
(Written to be read aloud, if so be, Thanksgiving Day)
I remember here by the fire,
In the flickering reds and saffrons,
They came in a ramshackle tub,
Pilgrims in tall hats,
Pilgrims of iron jaws,
Drifting by weeks on beaten seas,
And the random chapters say
They were glad and sang to God.
Tell me the world. Here comes light, unspoken.
Light hooks a claw on the horizon, pulls itself
into view. Here comes water, saline,
scattering single-celled organisms.
Land is a puppet. It climbs hydrothermal vents like stairs.
Lava congeals. Land rises. Here comes land,
hand-springing out of water. Wind is a ...Read more
Who hasn't been tempted by the sharp edge of a knife?
An ordinary knife cutting ordinary tomatoes on
an ordinary slab of wood on an ordinary Wednesday.
The knife nicks, like a bite to the soul. A reminder
that what is contemplated is as real as the blood
sprouting from a finger. As real as a bruised eye.
My first burnt bark child-flung to the windless flames
Second sly child-dressed for weather, swan skinned
Serpents impress diamonds into my salt shoulders
This composed with the Devil's black forked feet
He wants them back, sunk in hot white ink
Tentacles; mother-hunger hundred-mouths; the drift and night-...Read more
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and ...Read more
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my ...Read more
Exactly four different men have tried
to teach me how to play. I could never
tell the difference between a rook
or bishop, but I knew the horse meant
knight. And that made sense to me,
because a horse is night: soot-hoof
and nostril, dark as a sabled evening
with no stars, bats, or moon blooms. <...Read more
Hope is the thing with feathers, the fist of a house-
hold god held to the blazing sky of Hiroshima,
mon amour, my careful ever. I can't tell this lonesomeness
from the one it's replacing, its heft and harrow: a hawk
with a husband in its cast bronze hands, the missing quiver:
the hypotenuse between us never ...Read more
A bird flashed by as if mistaken then it
starts. We do not think speed of life.
We do not think why hate Jezebel? We
think who's that throwing trees against
the house? Jezebel was a Phoenician.
Phoenician thunderstorms are dry and
frightening, they arrive one inside the
other as torqued ellipses.
My father, lungs a-warble, spreads his arms on the nursing home bed,
swoops low over rough, unfamiliar terrain. The hospice nurse ticks off procedures.
My mother signs papers with her large, lush loops, so ravishing,
more ravishing than the chicken-scratch scrawl of my father's hand,
clubbed now, a long-lost claw-...Read more
There is a burning star and there is a gift
of choice at least sometimes
once something will come
from the world, it just appears
of the given
for public use
for ease of swallowing
honey, fog, and come what may
unsteady in the ...Read more
With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up