poetry

  He said, Oh, look, I can see the baby’s head— But what was there? I couldn’t read the screen. Was I pregnant? Was the baby dead (Hence the blood)? Or maybe he didn’t mean That’s what he saw, and … Read More

  In the strain and hazy fragrance of The garden of Miradouro de São Pedro De Alcântara, a mosaic of cobblestones Lies locked in Minerva’s fixed watch, The perpetual gaze of her opulent bust; Through ceviche scents and pastel tones … Read More

  When I think of you I think of a goat tethered to a pole, you inside your cubicle leashed to the spiraling end of a long chain of events. Hello you say, day after day. How may I help … Read More

    Whiteness in the air like snow falling sideways.   The van in which a man can stand rests in a driveway, turned off.   Fumes from the tires leave tracks in the fog. How much work it takes … Read More

(headline in the Boston Globe)   Abandon the path, even once, if only to pee, and you’re lost. First text, undelivered—“Im in somm trouble. Call AMC. Somewhere north of woods road”— When I missed a blue marker the hour before … Read More

  I will, at the end, strike a Delacroix alternative deathbed pose,   prop myself up, chaise-style with pillows so I can be viewed more mournfully   as I consider what I might declare as beautifully as this oak’s yellow … Read More

  My brother as if in a body bag— heard me laugh, couldn’t see but knew the curve of my throat when I threw back my head, lips open, taut over my teeth, felt my staccato breath against his opaque … Read More

  Four-cornered night, the faucet plinks— plinks a wet thousand’s thousand of droplets each stood just once to sing upon the silver bell of bathtub stopper. In morning, a small boy forms and collects his body; he lets it curl … Read More

  “The trouble is—I am an old man— you do not think it worth your while to love me.” —Freud to HD   The dog lay by his feet during their sessions, A lion-like chow with a bad temper, or … Read More

  The first time I was stabbed, sunlight napped on the thunder. A receipt caught fire beneath a Sprite can offering its smoke. Raindrops splashed from your skinhead. You were Augustine. If he were a woman born on a boat … Read More

  Translated by Liang Yujing   The sofa: a butterball with excess fat sleeping on the sofa. The bedsheet: a spent, bedsheet-thin guy. The mouth: a stomach ruminating lies and disgorging flowers. After the passion, the two are left to … Read More

  How did we run naked Through a sprinkler Those summers long ago, The flesh of childhood Steeped in sun, Knowing the shock of cold, The mad dance after To shed our bodies Of the numbing rain And how did … Read More