Now I’m a person who can spot a nuthatch, point to grosbeaks, have taughtmyself the clowning chip of juncos at the window. Know a raven from a crowand adore both. I owe that love to Arkansas. To think I never gawkedat life with wings before, had taken flocks for granted, and even thoughtthat birds were …
Sonnet with Church and Osso Buco The mystery of the Song of Songs: the priests’rationalizations of how the Roseof Sharon is the Church, the bride of Christ,or Israel, or a barbecue jointin Tennessee. Does He feedeth amongthe lilies sound like that to you? Get real.Solomon wants to be the Shulamite,the Rose of Sharon, the Fuchsia …
Who is your ideal reader? a lit mag asked,and after careful thought, I decidedit’s Daniel Craig, circa 2006,deliberately emerging from the seain his little blue shorts, flinging waterfrom his hair, swaggering through the wavesand onto the beach, white sand clingingto his bare feet and somehow muscular ankles,striding to the chaise longue beside mine,and opening a …
before there was manthere was mother and the sweetinfinince of her chorus mother of heaven, mother of earth, mother of mothers and other gods. mother of motherlands, broken waters, mountain peaks, and fertile valleys. mother of wind, mother of music, mother of sorrow and song. mother of echoes, mother of echoes, of echoes, echoes. mother …
Having nottouched myselfin some timeowing tothe erosionof incrementalsadnessesthat can detacha personfrom their bodyas cleanlyas a cliffis sheared froma coastline,the doctorinforms methat lovingmyselfis now myjob. So I take upmy own twofingers andwork them withthe seriousnessof earned saltand an imaginarysalaryinto the littoralcavern ofmy pussy. Andlike a wavethat sweeps theunsuspectingfrom the rockybreakwater,quite suddenlyeveryonewho has everfucked me isfucking meagain—mywife’s …
My mother tells me my grandmother has begun to touch herself. Dress up, hands between her legs, furious & buckling, & I wonder: how long has it been since she’s been touched by anyone? Decades, I presume. Does there come a point in life where you stop craving pleasure or do you learn to no …
A carpet of moss exhales inside an abandoned temple. A lone figure scrapes grime from a row of faded headstones. He brings flowers to a sunken patch of grass—chrysanthemum, hyacinth, pink lily mid-bloom—& lights a white candle beside the bouquet. Pacing the soil above his love’s stripped bones, upon the damp ground he kneels. Summer …
He was late for the flight. She can’t find her sandals.He waved to her behind zigzagging stanchions. She thinks about her future. He used a towel for the leaky toilet.She scrubs the sink as rain overflows the street.He hated continental breakfast. She thinks continent, an adjectivefor restraint. He boiled water. She weighs out tea for …
There was so much quicksandin the movies when I was a kid,so that’s what I think of as I watchan ant thrash on the carnivorous leafof a butterwort plant, each attemptto free itself from the viscid tongueonly making the situation worse,a dawning panic as it lifts a legand with its mandibles tries to snip offone …
The 14A District Court stands near the cornerof Washtenaw and Carpenter, presiding overthe busiest intersection in the whole city, which meanswhen you’re being taken into custody, you can counton having a little extra time to wait. I cried at that light.My father told me to find a dunce cap for having the gallto pick a …
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