Poem
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November 16, 2015Then the Lord stretched out His hand and touched my mouth… Jer 1:9 render me null & voice may I not be fallen noise listener up there tune your air & liquid tongue let your unsung devouring mouth give birth to these words lavish & ludicrous an unwalled museum a windowed mausoleum
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November 16, 2015O unnamed & only son too soon slipped from tender clutch of unripe body from cursed branch I will hang what’s left of you until you bloom into bone unnamed & only aviary of ribcage I will play what is reft from me & cradle the hole what is singing
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November 2, 2015Inside this monument a rain it doesn’t want, coming by with winds and the flag this way and that reaching out as if the war ended smelling from all your letters home wet—they had to be wet, scented with thunder and kisses left on the ground, already this harvest—stones becoming other stones and blood that no longer returns to your heart.
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October 26, 2015
The scary night owl
Flew to the moon for cheese
To put on its pizza.
It left the moon
A banana.
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October 19, 2015as a child I dreamed of small places sleeping in dresser drawers hiding in cabinets thinking about tunnels I loved the story of Moses how he hid in a cleft in the rock behind the hollow of God’s hand now in the city I lose myself in thought standing on the subway platform wondering if I would fi t into the niche in the tunnel wall covered by an unseen hand while the fury passes by
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October 12, 2015As Eddie Fisher catches fire, diamonds draw flame; Scotch tumbles over rims like water in wells Precious stones ring; like each pearl string, eight grooms hung bells. Bows on blue-boxed Tiffany tongues thank your name; Mere mortals, fans all, clamor and glamour becomes one same: Celebrity, fashion, lights, Oscar, and Hollywood shame; Self! I go my way! And the starlit starlet walks with fame, Crying: Darling, what I do is for fans, for them I came.
I say more: the splendid... -
October 5, 2015
We will live on a paved street or a rough Alley left between walls, almost forgotten, Or on the bank of a dry river bed With rose petals running over jagged stone, Or we will live, naked as bees, in a patchwork Forest stitched with water drawn from the sky’s groin.
Sooner or later we will find ourselves In the next world. And it will be like this Or that. We will bring with us gold or shells And find them useful or not, in the next world, Or there will be no...
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September 28, 2015You can’t tell from these clouds why this afternoon was set on fire is burning through some lullaby you’re singing to yourself by gathering a few leaves, some twigs for the gentleness falling out your mouth —you dead know how it is, each hush must be buried on the way back with lips that bleed when rinsed in rainwater leaving a sky that no longer takes root is drifting into its hiding place and each night listens for the word after word returning as the small stones around you that warm your...
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September 14, 2015I bring you a rose which you yourself created! Did you create the rose so that I could bring it, or me, so that I would find a rose and bring it to you? So, I give myself and a rose. Thank you for the gift of roses which I give back, with my hands opening. I love your roses and you. Can you smell what you’ve made? I can! They are exquisite as you must be to have thought of all this! How I wish you had hands so you could take the roses! I hope only that you can smell them! They are like incense!
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August 17-24, 2015I/Blaise Pascal “The silence of these infinite spaces frightens me: The dark dissolves to numbered points and emptiness. I’ve tried to write of it, but the imploding blank Swallows what words I speak, absorbs the light I seek. I prayed. I knelt, but the rings round the plafond shrank, The stars withdrew. All things dissolve at my caress.” His niece with swollen eyes lies flat, too ill to speak. At last, the priest comes with his holy thorn to press It to her cheek, while muttering hushed...