I found this in the pocket of the pants I had planned to wear dancing with you, but walked instead all night in the rain, woke up hung-over with a fistful of matchbooks from bars I’ve never been, but no cigarettes, and no last...Read More
for what seems like forever, sometimes they don’t wait to take off their shoes. A phone booth’s a grotto, a dark park bench the anteroom to the Cave of Lights or Juliet’s tomb. Smoking endless cigarettes together or alone they...Read More
The Autumn when you thought you wouldn’t last the winter, and Springs when you saw no end in sight. Doves cooing as it showers. Summer robins squabbling in the evening’s green unrest. The honeysuckle’s mute luster going more...Read More
The news as we know it here comes from upriver, the slag of it on Spring high tides, the dreck of it, slow as a September river often is. What whirled and eddied yesterday, what the storm brought with it, what was worn and...Read More
The boy – 7 – walks by the Brooklyn luncheonette and the jukebox plays The night is like a lovely tune beware my foolish heart With the years the melody returns And always out of nowhere A love affair begins and...Read More
I switch off the ballgame at it’s turning point Move to the comedy of Saturday Night Live Let the game end without me There’s too much life there When I turn back, if my team has won There is no joy, only relief Should my team...Read More
“The countries we long for occupy a far larger place in our actual life, at any given moment, than the ordinary country we happen to be in.” Marcel Proust He was embarking on a journey to a faraway place, an undiscoverable...Read More
I’m carving out an effigy of Forgetfulness grasping mangled ledgers of memory. Look how it shuffles screens, kinks files: larceny of channeled retention from unmuscled thresholds and honed lingo. Its intrusions inhabit the...Read More
After Dad’d spur, I was sure to bray: seasonal’d torture, splintered holidays, angered, soured, wound, baked—geothermal’d! Pending over my shoulder, poised, contained, his roused snout. Eruption’s not seeming a sensible...Read More
You must ascend a mountain to learn your relation to matter. —Henry David Thoreau The summit staged a glimpse. The West became a canvas. When I’m dispersed, it draws back. That chalked terrain: peaks pleated, engraved, cocked-...Read More
I want to write about Viktor Ullmann, but don’t know how without inventing new language. No words in the dictionary are sufficient to describe or portray the unspeakable and monstrous moment when he was twenty-one and...Read More
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