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: 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

poem: western montana

my mother birthed me into stranger places -- the mountains shornand shot up, as if Ithere, was one of them: too-big blue sky fit like a salt-block into my open mouth, deer- and oxen-child. if I had been born into a city, the masturbatory smoke andskyscrapers cut up around me, think -- what a little… Continue reading poem: western montana

poem: outline / satire / art

i thank God for internet aesthetics, that i am able to remake myself in so many, livid, anthologies -- the tide comes like a cusp over my breasts, but it is just my hands, clutching myself, seeing/comparing the male freedomswimming, angrily, through my eyes and then -- thesecold small breasts. i sat in a cafe,… Continue reading poem: outline / satire / art

poem: letter to myself

the only thing I could imagine piercing me todayis the long cat-vomit pink, stretch, of sky -- and after driving home, the awareness of the earth that would notaccept or come into me, the places I will not go because they are outside, and I cannot? cannot! leave this bedroom, the walls bent in and… Continue reading poem: letter to myself

poem: they say, men fall off the bottom curve of the earth

he bit into her — in long, sloping strides, and theirAfter was like the fall of Troy, her dress caulking down to herankles in the same violet waves, as she had seen, in the leavingof the wooden places she called Now, and now in his comingbetween her, the ships rising and firing and not ever,… Continue reading poem: they say, men fall off the bottom curve of the earth

writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

The window is gothic, church-shaped, above her. She is bending over a wooden desk, working furiously; outside, it is autumn and the light is brilliant and orange. Her hair tucked hurriedly behind her ears, curling out. He comes and stands above her, looking down; there is something unusually serious about him; he is a person… Continue reading writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

poem: shire’s end

rather laboriously, my father was forced into. a marriageand the lavender sucked head, in dreary smokestack columns, all underhis window. the sun was lowand always hot; the gardens sank and gasped,as if as if -- I was metallic lady Diana sat in permanent mourning or waiting or hoping. as a woman, I was alwaysdoing all… Continue reading poem: shire’s end

poem: writing camilla

he slept on the desk, in half-glacier grandsnow sweaters, the pine trees and cardinal birds, their throatsbright and ready! red, sloping down to his hands --big and masculine, and knotted up fromwriting her, sad long letters; when the day swept to a small close, the trees leaning in, snow falling off and conjoining; he slept… Continue reading poem: writing camilla