poem: the intellectual buying a lamp

this is how you end a poem: at the peak of the fifth act, when all the monstersand parents and the tragic (?) hero, his pale face histumblr black hair, flicked away from his face from the sweat, when he and all of them are in the same room, and you think -- finally, we… Continue reading poem: the intellectual buying a lamp

poem: hamlet

my mother ran out of my sore emotions/ my rawopen mouth, with her hair on fire. pushkin heard there was plagueup ahead, in the estates at bodin, and said fuck it. he wrote well there, the universe the gods came and sat, wondering at him: guess this is mozart, guess the rest of us can… Continue reading poem: hamlet

poem: love letter to cassandra, 1997

cassandra has her hair in muse of delphi dressed-downedglam -- curls, and a red scarf. she is reading pasternak. my grandmother had her ecstasy moment when princessDi died -- she called my mother for the first time in twenty-five years, and did not apologize, but criedover the phone. I listened from the hallway. I was… Continue reading poem: love letter to cassandra, 1997

poem: wyoming

I jumped -- and the mountain was betweenmy legs. the snowy western town wound around, like aniron snake, into my skin. you cannot make your past, your scarsinto a personality. you cannot. I had my hair undone andloose around my ears; the tight jeans, the leatherboots, the wool coat. ninety-dollar plaidscarf. an old man stared… Continue reading poem: wyoming

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: molly

australian shepherd, destroyer of worlds & (stuffed) lambs little sentinel, keeping watch over the sun-bent deckwith her ears pressed back. the whole of the world isbehind her — myself, typing. my sisters painting and my mother, hanging the blue-whorled swedish plates. all of us, her little women. she was bornin larger skies — hung over the… Continue reading poem: molly

poem: diary / best american girl

I told my mother -- I think you are better at being a woman than I am. She said, oh! we are verydifferent people. the christmas lights in the room, in popping dullreds, twilling blues, and avocado green. earlier today I scraped out the avocado flesh and ate downto the shell, left holding its shape… Continue reading poem: diary / best american girl

poem: poetry submissions

the little misty furs inside my mouth, drawinga blood line; I was once somebody, somebody -- now I am on the breath, the knife-point, of obscurity. the lavender light, in the evenings, crouchedlike a ghoul at the windows, like a dead hamlet girl, pre-raphaelite flowers in her sticky hair. I could, but cannot -- write… Continue reading poem: poetry submissions

poem: oxbridge

he came from his side of the bed: whiteshirt, white sweater, whitetrousers with the cresses pressed in, as if he was a gothic romantic caricature of the fine, last old age, aging likeyoung wine, the dorian grey bright and apparent andhelium-esque on his face, he took my thinwhite hands inside his own,unworked, thin hands --… Continue reading poem: oxbridge

poem: strange birds

I dream he was at my breasts, my baby, my lover; and here I am, mutilated daily -- by choice -- I swearto God, by choice; his tongue goes down like a rawmachine, the taffeta and the serfs worn like an anklet, bracelet, iron-neck collar; I swear to God, it is all by choice, his… Continue reading poem: strange birds