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Poetry
… chooses not to see, the prisoner of a point of view Remains complacent in that choice, until a slight Alteration of perspective, a trick of light, reveals a small Illuminated window in a corner of the factory’s … to watch myself, Says the countervoice)—how can that odd, uncomprehending Object looming right in front of me be me ( …
Poetry
… the rivets at the corners of your blue jeans the curved metals stitched into the flesh of your bra where you are going …
Poetry
… Hawk-Man I’m a man who believed that I died twenty years ago, and I live like a man who is dead … home. I don’t have to read further; I know of the week to come—the flight to Detroit, the Ford Auditorium, the … The image is editorial, a day after the fire, but the composition is classical: The Deposition , Christ’s descent …
Poetry
… to what we know will we avoid the scintillating chill that points its finger in advance of snow. First Snow Slowly, …
Poetry
On Learning Ada Lovelace’s Father Was Lord Byron Is programming not a kind of poetry? Ones and zeros of the heart. The language of unseen relations between things, Lovelace once said. If I have to send another email today, I will liquefy. I will hold my …
Poetry
… boundaries, then; an infestation of humours, invisible companion: ageless, like a child. No one will be able to … back. But not the beginning, not where I started. That died with Johann setting out on the road. That died when the only language I trusted began to grow under my …