I slipped one sparrow black and shivering into my mouth.
The pupils are toothpicks. The lake is a sky with a circle beneath.
He loves me. That’s half enough: he’s the only man around.
If every present is possible, how can we have eyes to see?
i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.
Exhausted, androgynous, delirious, I delight in my many parts.
In hushed awe they talk of things to come, a golden time of flowering.
I dug a hole in you; I jumped (here is the church, here is the steeple).
Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.
Even as a child, I was skeptical—testing God when He wasn’t looking.
I'll pick a black card of luck for you: star, pinkmoon, mirror, ostrich eye.
I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.
Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.
I’m going to save up against the flood and stagger to carry nothing.
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.
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.
Let’s rummage through each other’s bodies like a blowout sale.
Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.
They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.
Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.
Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?