Poetry
Pretty Boy London, 1795 Can’t say he walked the walk. Talked it, but everybody did that, everybody had a story to front, the essential mess of their life. He was pretty, though. Nobody messed with the sight of him because it messed with …
Poetry
… Territory All day I’ve followed roads. Have I come that far? Terre Haute, Greencastle. Kokomo’s not close, …
Poetry
… not even in the worst of it, I get hung up on. She died so suddenly all I can picture is the oxygen mask …
Poetry
… Window Ex hiis clarissime constat maximum absolute incomprehensibiliter intelligibile pariter et … chamber the trees trace in winter of the woman come from the tropics now licking the marvel of … doxology the slope and solemnity of lemons soft yellow petals on a secondhand dress the yes to slow dance the parting …
Poetry
… stay in the right. We meet at the stop sign where the two points intersect. In the timeline of the atom bomb, … An early review of Whistler’s Nocturne series also describes it as wallpaper, suggesting there’s no … measure time is to play until you hear the coyotes and then come home, which is mostly, also, what lovers do. …
Poetry
… tank says, It only takes one or two seconds to become helpless in flowing grain , or among flowering … ice. I love her for pretending to die a lie of such richness and for being able to die, both of us any moment, so that when I …