from Xingping, ChinaSlaughter mornings he walks the baby cows alone down to the river baby muscle peeking through skin like the swelling of chrysalis or some other animal endeavor toward capacity.Tiny horns tiny tree-buds little browning wrapped-up leaves as if upon creation every little creature was caressed.And the bamboo trees— the upshoots the sprawling brushes …
I try not to think too muchof the thing that I am that isdying—I’m not going to drive myself crazywith this—I say one must be a seer make oneselfa seer—any day now I’ll rememberlove compeers attentionand so, my heart, that it might be called one, at last must become the simple embraceof angels. All of …
When anxiety becomes circumference, you are a hangnail in need of soaking. Waking is hard; too much waiting, wasting wings wavingiridescent clouds reflecting opalescent in midnight pools— to stir or not to stirthe measure of a half-moon,a profile of speech, light + sense marauding to the tune of chance: dot dot dotbut instead of being …
Ferns & angels bathed in skin-color breathmunch a bunch of mothballs, disintegrating into a pile of steam & orphaned moons. Signals lostin someone’s future tense. Antlered with machismo & cinematic eyes,a purse-shaped animal descends, yellow feet like highlighters grazing the misty waste.
Tissue crosses a haze marked X for bird brain chirping excitedly or clashing silverThe streets of mayhem fall lightly on its crown: ding, ding fluttering One could call this a heart stretched & pulled on a lark’s table |unetherized near an umber twig stretched bare of greenThere are limits to how much we can inhale …
Not a white night, pearls threaded eyelid-deep. This gambit is lead, a horn that wakes the sleeper, not the bones. Coal-weight on the lungs: no great cat, salt-red eyes in the black, no boy- child gathered in as sandbag. The earth has stopped its turning. Time leers from the clock. Nothing but air fills this …
raid my closet yea rate it too yea 10s across the board raid my pantry yea peanut butter crackers sticky sticky steamy polenta indian summer unseasonably warm the fabled mama grizzlies rawr rawr rawr devour nick jonas diabetic sperm cutest of the jonai body slick dog-tired face a perfect o . . o king of …
All afternoon & evening, sometimes morning & midday—in fact, when-ever they feel like it—the frogs speak. They are strident, resonant,bassy. Sometimes they speak sequentially, as if they are orators in a long ceremonial event; occasionally they overlap or interrupt & drown one another out, a quarreling parliament; more often, they monologue, they aria, one diva …
Easy to see, when Robin Williams died, why we mourned on social pages the touched friend we did not know. Or knew the way one knows,by the hair on our necks, a storm will comeand make our sleep a little easier and deep.Surely the hole in us was evidence earth hadmoved, a share of us …
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us . . . a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam . . . the only home we’ve ever known. —Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot (1994) Drill, baby, drill! —Michael Steele, 2008 Republican National Convention Photographed from 18,000 miles in 1972, Earth had the …