Category: Poetry

Nights like these, when I am less a man more a traffic light lingering on yellow, more feet full of running, twitching over the gas pedal, more snake caught between rocks thrashing, more a radio’s needle stuck between static and station, coughs and crashes of what could be song or argument, more the image of…

The engagement was over, so Amanda dug a well in the middle of a field, tossed a pack of Camels and a few cracked novels down the hole, then dyed her hair redder in that water, so cold it dried stiff. She wanted to see Maine’s lighthouses, but the drive was too damn far, so…

i’m afraid of stars fuck it all of outer space. how small it makes me. i’d rather not count the grains of sand stuck to my thighs after sex on the beach a millepede scuttering next to my shoulder meteors shooting blank over my lover’s head. not so blank. i abort a galaxy half named…

Who is my mom�s secret first husband to me? No more a landscape feature than the Zuiderzee. What can I say? I caved when asked for a family history. They are to me a collective mystery, a game that is a book in which we all write results that are as strange to us as…

I imagine my hair in a different era. Coal-strewn and tobacco scented.

Bottles full of exhales landed drunk on their sides.

I�ll take, always, a gander at the beautiful: this time at the long black hair, the short black skirt, the razor thin pantyhose and the black high heels.

Why doesn�t everyone think of this? His daughter is a minister herself, perhaps that gives her license; perhaps it�s the art he loved, or just the indelible imprint of a person on the people who love him.

My friend went back to reading Yeats the year she went back to the farm, claiming the land as land, leaving a smart, well-dressed career for dirt. This was her home. She�d planned how what had grown tobacco now would bear (a mile below where grinding, snorting bands of bulldozers pawed the earth and air…