Poetry

I didn’t say I loved you but I did 
and also him, the one who stole away, 
with all my sacraments
wrapped in his curling laugh, 
thief of my night.
We find ourselves together,
cobbling a mystery of fleshes 

The gentle tremor that has begun now in my left hand, between thumb and forefinger,
is not history. Its seed lies buried deep in sleep, in the neurochemistry of sleep
which traces its faint salt patterns on the stone of my soul. Stone of my...

You know I’m actually not who I appeared to be
kidding. I’m actually not sure this was my idea
of a good time, not sure what’s exactly what
in the glass elevator whose bellied window
swerves your face away from your face.
I’m actually not sure...

The man used to walk four miles a day, 
two hours at first, less as he got stronger 
and thinner, to defy the sense of rules that dictates 
higher challenges as the ability climbs. Rebel 
mind in a rebel body. Not even Plato’s 

the world is made perfect why not rebuild here lies the water made of motion same day different peace is a matter of time

curbside on an Arp-like table. He’s alone
of course, in the arts district as it were, legs folded, 
swaying a foot so that his body seems to summon 
some deep immensity from all that surrounds:

Odious Chloe wrote this
  on her seven husbands’ graves:

Away from the cruel magnification
            of a shaving mirror, I clean up well.
I am content with orange teeth and salty
            skin, with having borrowed my beauty 

            from the ocean. See my kelpy eyes, the pearl
on my...

What realms of gold did they travel,
these old field glasses? Her last pair,
focused beyond the tame sea-stacks 
of glass and bottle, they’d have caught––
from her Boston Harbor condo–– 
birds in maneuvers, breaches of whales.

You bought yourself a low-cost house
  for only forty thou’.
Then lost it in a city fire;
  they burn so often now.