poem: the sense of reading a Japanese novel.

the spangled aspect of things, the clench which will -- always be withme, laying too long in bed too much a half hour, the ocean madand white with spray on the beach -- always in myhead. when we walked on the marina in the salt-air I thought, this isa place I could live. the light… Continue reading poem: the sense of reading a Japanese novel.

poem: breasts and eggs

she is standing in the stairway -- red overalls and shinyblack hair dancing around her neck in the lopped-off way that i always wanted (when i cut my hair shortit is a tempest, a misery.) she is maybe forty, she lookstwenty-five. i want to ask her: why is itwhen i have just gotten overone thing,… Continue reading poem: breasts and eggs

poem: the sun also rises

I have this idea of maine -- the ocean is a small god, a constantalways suicide; there are pine trees like there werepine forests in my childhood, their raging phallic heads high above the fire, the drifting smote, the cow-flysilluminated from behind and turned into fairies. I have this ideaof paris, with long cafe-evenings enveloped… Continue reading poem: the sun also rises

poem: the liar is the girl from last spring

on the corner of the world i licked out the fringes; the future is justthe new element in the equation of the present, and i ammaking it, i am the / creative. and you, darling, are the road not taken. you lick my neck and my face; yes, at the heart of all this, this… Continue reading poem: the liar is the girl from last spring

poem: the brothers karamazov. pt. 1 – fields.

oh! alyosha alyosha why do you insist on the sitting, the side-lining, the great country of thisnothingness has been brought down to you; cup it in the palms of your hands, cup it! I drank russia like an after-party, the red spilledall over my dress, my little virgin legs, my throat always clenching --up! --… Continue reading poem: the brothers karamazov. pt. 1 – fields.

poem: ‘muse’

the christmas tree divorced in the window, the ce n'est pas real tree -- she is wearing a red sweater, the thread caughtat the edge of her neck, the cotton peter-pan collar. when she coughs the spit rides up her throat in a divorced ball and he, watching, imagines taking it out, colliding it, marrying… Continue reading poem: ‘muse’

poem: colorado rich girl

girl driving home in a beat-uptoyota with the bare legs of spidermen draped overthe cut glass of her open holes, listeningto hey ho hey i'min love with you / you're in love -- but she always saysthe wrong thing, he finds her in the toiletvomiting blood. she pulls herselfapart / inside like the mountains,the old… Continue reading poem: colorado rich girl

writing: hunger and boys and poetry

There was a storm coming and she had run six miles and she was not hungry. She sprawled on the couch and ached pleasurably, but her stomach was ringing hollow. I am going to vomit, most likely. Why the fuck am I not hungry? Why the fuck? It was six miles. The last time her… Continue reading writing: hunger and boys and poetry

poem: Angelika waited for Henri on the sidewalk

she felt that anything that happened; that had happenedpast highschool -- was notreal -- she had three dollars and 81 in the account; she kept herhair in a white ribbon in a queue; she romanticized the vomit on her bathroom floorlike she romanticized her cafe-haunts and the blackcoffee, Listz at breakfast and during poetryreadings and… Continue reading poem: Angelika waited for Henri on the sidewalk

poem: love poem to internet aesthetics

I can't imagine --a fairer day to love You, thantoday -- the sun is white on the tiles, the statues are made-up likeprostitutes and in the centerof the universe old men sitand talk -- about atomics, aboutwoman, does a form exist independentlyof the concept? In Rome, they do not botherto answer; they make mad love… Continue reading poem: love poem to internet aesthetics