There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.
I dug a hole in you; I jumped (here is the church, here is the steeple).
I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.
Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.
Even as a child, I was skeptical—testing God when He wasn’t looking.
Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.
If I bring the wrong pen the words look like snow piles on an empty page.
I let you pull my hair, throw me to the rocks, disarrange me.
Absence rarely makes the heart grow fonder, or so my mother said.
Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing
Suddenly two would dart and clasp one another belly to belly.
A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.
Soon everything here will be sopped up by time. Only art will last.
My daddy used to yodel. That’s not all. He'd wear plaid shorts & guinea Ts.
My baby was calling to me. But I was welded to the mountain.
Tell her I put poison in the pot and I intend to watch her drink it.
What do you offer someone who has lost half of her beginning?
Years ago I wanted parallel lives, to see how it turns out for all of me.
The walls pull apart like a troubled couple, finally deciding to hold.
What excuse did I use to pick a fight with that arrogant poet?
I’ve taken the pledge and made donations of blood to the world.
My brush an M-16, thirty-round clips for tubes of paint, all of them red.
Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.
Let’s rummage through each other’s bodies like a blowout sale.
How large our muscles have to be to lift our wings even a single time.
They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.