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Poetry
… the trickle of dirt dusting his lashes; after his wife had come sobbing through the glare of the kliegs and called …
Poetry
… supple dough, thin skin, silly skull. only so many poems come each year. women, i feel a pressing, & yet some days— …
Poetry
… a delicacy, it was said after Emily’s little nephew died she became delicate, would not even let the doctor feel … know why, I don’t know why I miss her so, and him, why die, why dream? funeral father body death family 199 By …
Poetry
… to throb. Affairs that began in spring’s alarming weather die of heatstroke. A generous gesture hovers in the back of …
Poetry
… there until my eyes hurt. Our eyes must be on loan. When we die, we must take them out and return them to the hawks … children used to. I know my eyes have been used, that they come from a hawk. I know this because the wind never …
Poetry
… light laptop light graphic light leaking liquid crystals frosted red-green-blue chromatics throbbing until I … I masturbate then pray to God after the shame-hate-spiral comes like a call I deny I send the voicemail to my chest … to find unmitigated pleasure like when I fly I fear I will die every time and my therapist tells me to accept this …