I no one remembers, I, piecemeal, homeless beneath/ The hoarding , my cardboard bed, my newspaper / Covers, my death stare / The sound in my mouth black plumbing, my history / Howling, you can hear it, even
... Read on
He had a whining tone in his voice,
the biker in his colors and boots
complaining to the receptionist
at a California motel
a present that fits me to a t Ace ― Tom Raworth (with a nod to old Stones… & stoners) a present gifted, & at arms (rah-rah) shabby old cardigan, slippers, &c. [1] ― the real raw deal! that ’s worth a lotta r… She corrects [2] / x-ray muse in my devices fits
... Read onWe started the journey on foot one morning,
After a while, found horses to ride,
Then coaches drawn by horses,
Followed by a host of
The woods were a snake road
when the red leaves fell. The snakes
remembered the men, their lauding. Diamond-backed
on the blood-red road, they remembered.
Rizzo shacked up with his new 16-year-old girl friend for three straight days. The military Greek chorus was surprisingly tolerant with him.
... Read onMost of all you blame your parents,
because they started all this fucking mess.
You tell anyone who’ll listen.
You write nasty letters in red
The child he was:
red crayons coloring in circles,
holes in the drywall,
empty sweatshirt sleeves
while he crossed his arms across his bare chest.
I peruse Forbes/New Yorker adverts for
private airplanes, bunkers, islands aimed at
the .1% who’ve now taken over almost
everything from way when back then when
appeared
From early on, I’d been ruining my father’s reputation, sometimes deliberately. In my teens, I became a punk stoner with a fake
... Read onthe time between 'before' and 'next', a constant
transition that doesn't know when transformation
ends, a moonless night
we are ambiguous beings disoriented
by an in-between
Dallas Bleustrom watched the taxi-cab growl down out of Seven Oaks Cemetery. He maneuvered his wheelchair over tufts of unkempt grass,
... Read onMy writing voice will not speak to me. I don't know why, but for several weeks it has been silent. Like a
... Read onWe eat sawdust cereal / on the beach in the / afternoon. I drink / my milk from the bowl / and
... Read onFibularis longus. Flexor carpi radialis. Obliquus extemus abdominis. Roget let his eyes wander the muscle chart for a few seconds more as
... Read onWhere words had once become life stood a smoldering pile of charred wood, broken glass, and scattered shingles. A garden hose lay
... Read onPedro Hermoso de Fuentebonito and Antonio Espíritu Santo mounted horses beside a third rider. The gates opened: roaring crowds made Espíritu Santo
... Read onIt was about a month after everything got all messed up, that I took Iris for Italian ices on a squinty sun-bleached
... Read onNotice
the Pope’s
white skin beneath the red velvet robe.
Contemplate the thin papery silhouette
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Big Bird felt especially clever after pocketing a plastic ashtray from the local tavern after last call on Tuesday night. The barmaid
... Read onWho can conjugate madness, shadows, apparitions from the untime of legend and myth--from the world always next to the commonest, simplest scenes
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After limb snap and tree crash, months
of air filled with sawdust and the sounds
of wood chippers and log loaders: a mountain
shorn,
in five miles hail becomes sunlight
in one week wood becomes bees
80 years tween first and last breaths
parts of lungs never visited
When lightning wallowed in the orchard's lap – / that raw, sudden violence from the clouds almost / offhand
... Read onThe same words / In the same sequence, / Everywhere we go.
The same people, / Echo pretense / About everything we know.
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