poetry

  I’d just had my cards read—but I don’t believe that shit, so when the tower turned up in the middle with the little picture of you and me upside down and falling I just thought: pretty. The Devil and … Read More

  Along the coast, we lit tobacco fields.   We followed a pack of bulldogs.   Our private moments, of praying for each other’s bodies,   were sought behind billowing tapestries.   A barge approached us   overflowing with sleepers … Read More

  –after Frida Kahlo   Have you seen my painting?   2 x 8 meters, disappeared, passed through the walls in Warsaw. I suspect it has been exiled to a Soviet storeroom.   You cannot mistake me rooted at the … Read More

  Yes, it feels like winter, but it isn’t winter. Ice lines the banks, but the river still needs damming, still needs something beside the air to slow it down. Below the bare branches, we are building   tougher hides … Read More

  TV1 has a blonde actress who must be eighteen years old or is pretending in a music video to play that crestfallen age, that rhetorical-middle-finger-to-the-rhetorical-Man age, but   the music’s muted, and it occurs to me she thinks I … Read More

    Cheaper to keep her than to delete her   who saves a marriage of true minds   under the sun streaming data unsupervised   by the Monopolated Light & Power   vested in we worry over   the … Read More

  My daughters will give me Hail Columbia, that’s what I told the nurse, says the old lady to her son, as she holds up her slightly trembling right hand, with its cast put on after three hours in the … Read More

  One day we decided the boy and girl children in each doll family had been so bad they must be punished publicly, and at length. We led them to the courtyard formed by the three dollhouses, grouped parent dolls, … Read More

-after Frida Kahlo   Have you seen my painting?   2 x 8 meters, disappeared, passed through the walls in Warsaw. I suspect it has been exiled to a Soviet storeroom.   You cannot mistake me rooted at the center; … Read More

  pour down like rain on the roof tiles of a house on the outskirts of the city we once lived in before the war dispersed our possessions to the four or five winds that scour the horizon or swirl … Read More

  I’m walking in your shoes, the black boots trimmed in fur, found in your closet, price tag dangling, the evening of the day we buried you.   I was rooting around to get a feel of the clothes. None … Read More

  Or, on rare inspired days, the life of soul and then body. And sometimes, both suffer together, like a man with a bad foot limping through the airport, late for a flight to a holy city. One always wants … Read More