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Animalsexpand_moreYou linger in the dimming aftermath, grayer and fainter than a breath.
The first skeleton drawn from the earth, they called beautiful.
Beyond her ampleness, he stands a small man vanquished.
All the bears in the zoo look pathetic. Their eyes glazed, bodies lethargic.
Arriving on earth’s paradise, wearing only light for their bodies.
Wet air. Big windsound in the leaves—a kind of prayer, maybe.
My soul is simple; it doesn’t think. Something strange paces there now.
On a morning in November words appeared at the end of my pen.
From a pyre on the burning ghat a corpse slowly sits up in the flames.
My lust works like the tides pulling in reverse, controlled by a simple ballast.
I love it—watching gray light bleed out over the makeshift bed on the floor.
I saw a bat in a dream and then later that week I saw a real bat.
The urge to be a tiny bird upon a tiny limb, maybe a bridled titmouse.
My own hunger was for a reduction in the vast space between people.
My own hunger was for a reduction in the vast space between people.
My mother’s house was packed, painted, put up for sale—sold.
Bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, and fill all fruit with ripeness.
Help me, please help me, is the beggar’s refrain on the F train today.
I love scientists. They’re trying their hardest. And they just want love.
I should call my loves while I can to listen to the grackles croak.
Again, nature has written a good script. The skunk saga will continue.
His beauty comes from his power. I am as wary as I am drawn to it.
A psychologist told me we can train our dreams. I practice each night.
The first murder had been a half dozen years ago in a warmer city.
He was alongside without preamble. Elephants are not stealthy by nature.
Who needs driftwood when I can bury myself in your loamy soil.
In that world I was a fish too eager to enter the nets; here, I’m a river.
What will we do without exile, and a long night that stares at the water?
