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Three Poems

Boulevard Lannes what are you doing so far out in space
With your garbage carts pulled by draught horses plodding
    one behind another...

Shaving the Graveyard

The graveyard being what he called his face; even as a young man he called his face the graveyard—he talked like that, funny, odd things that scared me sometimes in our early years—I thought maybe he was a little touched (his Uncle Bob was certi [...]

Night Piece

It is night. I feel it is night
not because darkness has fallen
(what do I care about darkness falling)
but because down in myself the shouting
has stopped, has given up.

The Sound A Body Makes

Only three days later I realized the chalk outline was gone, faded, no doubt, in the rains that flushed the gutters clean, & now a steady line of haze as the sun walks its beat. There were photographers, yes, a few nights back: flashbulbs burp [...]

Slow Work

You need something to tend that exacts a stately pace. You could set type, dice vegetables for soup, or knit a tiny sweater no faster than the baby gestates for whom it's meant. Or translate Martial, scrubbing the rust from your Latin. Then you co [...]

Odors [Kokulon]

I am chilly, nephew. I can smell the fire from the neighbor's home and hope to get its heat. Don't say that flames have no odors, they do, nephew, but only the truly cold can understand. Don't wander the marketplaces or stand before the stores. D [...]