Hands whose folds and creases _______spoke not of rail splits or nails A mouth whose cough sputtered _______angels into the dust of a long road I saw women dry his gentle _______feet with their hair I saw men covet _______and beg to know him ______________the salt cries of Gomorrah _____________________fell from their trembling members My
Found in the last stall eyes swollen . . . . . . . gray, fat, glinting bloodshot considerate gaping wrists dangling in the bowl kneeling, poised, limp pallor . .What right? . . . . . What right? . . . . . . . rats with wings . . . . . .
There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. xxxxxxxThe first time you overdosed xxxxxxxxxxxxxxit was a dead bluejay by the side of the road, xxxxxxxtwisted but unblemished, and I knew your taut lines had broken. Next it was a hawk lost in this big city, xxxxxxxflying across my windshield, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxa still-writhing snake in
The squeaking of the pail handle, the dogs’ bark and, in the distance, something more ominous. The doves I have been feeding all summer will now feed someone else. Such a world is not mine, but it’s not quite the shooter’s either. Years pass as well as seasons as we lurch our way to the
The trace is growing into fetor the flint that stained your hand with ash-burns drifts the room wears you as a drape the cat sniffs in circles searching for you in your scent his whiskers spring over the dress of the bed the skirt of the recliner he abandons the hunt in favor of crusted
We’ve met here before. I remember the skin I wore at the time Stored in my closet Along with the husk of words you assured promised our future
You stoop and scramble picking up pieces of myself scattered on the floor refrigerator magnets of words and phrases you live to assemble telling you what you want to hear lifeless, silent arranged neatly thoughtlessly in a dissintegration of meaning.
On the Bay of Naples Medwen’s bones Tell me that when Vesuvius erupted, Waves of lava covered her. With my brush I uncover her and give her life back to her. In her arms she holds her master’s son, Who mouths a gold teething ring. When Medwen asks Paulus the boatman To take her and
This house is preparation. An atrium Of light invites us up a curved Marble staircase. When we ascend, A long hall opens into a library With ten-thousand volumes and heaven Painted on its blue ceiling. A black limo crouches on the pebble drive. In the rose garden the bees go About their business. The roaches
The male approaches the female with caution. He wants to mate with her not serve as prey. If she accepts him, then he grasps her claws With his and they parade for hours. Sometimes the male ends this display as dinner, But not until he and the female bring Their mouths close enough to kiss.
