littoral |
***beach fires***a brokenwine glassin the rhythmicbreastof a gull. the baseballI seein a wave. the girluntouchedby sand, the boycurlingto his earher swimsuit'smutewaist. my motherrockingthe boatof ...
Posted by on Wed, 17 Feb 2010 13:22:00 GMT |
celebrations |
***vinyl***the soundlessbacksideof moonand nightlyroad benttreesand mother'stipsyglissadeto yawnwhite men'sshadowsto the somberlengthof her neckwhere a cubeof icetimidas a dancer'sbantamheeldrinksfrom...
Posted by on Fri, 12 Feb 2010 12:37:00 GMT |
now |
***hush banquet***a chickenfatwith terrorundera white vanbornparkedis carefulnot to cluck-its legscharon'soarstreadthe mythof headfirstbabies.
Posted by on Thu, 11 Feb 2010 13:26:00 GMT |
secular |
***how to keep friends***before you hitthe dogimaginewhat he mightlook likeprayingyou don't.
Posted by on Wed, 10 Feb 2010 13:59:00 GMT |
far |
***subjects***in my town of white windowsand ghost ladderstreetsa manpoursfrom a jarmilkat the foregroundof mother'sstone. the nudeI am paintingshe turnsvery palewantsno longerher fingernails. her m...
Posted by on Wed, 10 Feb 2010 13:27:00 GMT |
continual |
***trove***snow, we let it fall. our cigarettes nod off. ear shaped mouths fill with cake. our mothers open windows, and worry. lovers leave a bed, unmade, on the moon. a stolen truck swerves to ...
Posted by on Tue, 09 Feb 2010 13:53:00 GMT |
cradles |
***an early baby knows to cry***a mimepolishesyour thumbwith the faceof a quietcoin.
Posted by on Tue, 09 Feb 2010 11:46:00 GMT |
other outing |
***men terrified***the men have gathered with small boys on their backs. each hopes to be, briefly, in the shadow of a plane. the boys can only think with their hands how warm their fathers are. a ...
Posted by on Thu, 04 Feb 2010 13:51:00 GMT |
outing |
***moony***the monster in the closet has clawed the calendar. three days, no children. the room has been calling other rooms into it. yesterday, the bed moaned in two voices. the light that had be...
Posted by on Thu, 04 Feb 2010 12:19:00 GMT |
the help |
***apnea***under the sinkin the men'sbathrooma motherof twoor threeis cryingbut notloudlyshe has neverknownmento wearsuch oddshoeswhen she goesto marketshe will thinkof the applein her backhow shecrus...
Posted by on Wed, 03 Feb 2010 13:16:00 GMT |
