Poetry

It’s coming to you live: the high-rise ledge
That doubles as a desolate precipice
In a pinch. It’s all raw footage,

The poem that argues successfully against death
finds its place in the book you can buy
in stores that do not sell poetry.

What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things

Children,
when I am ash
read by the light of the fire
that consumes me

The park benches, of course, are ex-Nazis.
They supported the ass of the SS
without questioning; the old stamp “Juden Verboten”
has been painted out.

absence is a margin of strongholds. I go out
and I go out. Love is sequence and
condition: one of the few winter nights