If others call you a maniac or a fool, just let them wag their tongues.
The horse had been beaten and flies crawled on the beat marks.
Passions played among the orchids and through cherish and reveal.
Always I obliged the urban tree, any speechless unblessed nature.
My brother, only his son by the way he fixes his tie, blind-fingered.
In the morning light, I could hear Bashō hard at work.
Bone unspools its musculature to the crush of atmosphere.
The first time we love, how tight we hang on to keep from drowning.
The old dog of inertia gets up with a growl and shrinks out of the way.
Each day I sing the valleys alive. Each night you find a dark pool.
My father was neither kind nor strong in his bruising.
Sitting on the edge, I leaned back and fell, wrist-deep, into the body of a deer.
The light from dead stars only exists in the minds of the living.
Chill air at six a.m., a bare hand scraping frost from a windowpane.
Olav H. Hauge
I want to be rapt around your linger, not Thumbelina under your dumb.
Splayed toes adhesive on a whitewashed wall, ghost-tattoo.
For who can escape one’s twenties or browser history?
I could untie Minnie’s silk, restitch it into places I’ve lived.
She sits in her wax like a candle. A woman comes, a woman goes.
Everything white is a white spider. The spider spins regardless of color.
To get the job, always stay starched, creased to death.
It’s raining concrete. I bite my grief wetly. Who will test these chains?
let me fall through some small bore into your tiny breathing eden
A boat-tailed grackle counts the passing cars from the traffic light.
May your wife remove her shirt and have an affair with a tornado.
An expansion into light, or we could have been, or were for a moment.
You won’t allow me to play with your baby, nor come live in your home.