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The stars begin to turn clockwise, freeing us of all consequences.

I dug a hole in you; I jumped (here is the church, here is the steeple).

Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.

Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.

I drag my sheets as Earth drags her tangled mess of tides.

I slipped one sparrow black and shivering into my mouth.

i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.

If every present
is possible, how can we have eyes to see?

Exhausted, androgynous, delirious, I delight in my many parts.

Maybe he was preparing for a disaster that would never happen.

he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.

the bible doesn’t tell us how they stormed up to his ark beat their fists

If I bring the wrong pen the words look like snow piles on an empty page.

Some night soon you’ll haul yourself out from far beneath this life.

Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.

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.

Suddenly two would dart and clasp one another belly to belly.

After my father passed away, I’d go back to stare at the cave paintings.

My baby was calling to me. But I was welded to the mountain.

Years ago I wanted parallel lives, to see how it turns out for all of me.

They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.

Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?

Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.

Michael McGriff

Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.

Who are we? Without one another, who will we be?

The mechanism and its crank pull us forever closer, you and I.

I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.

Marianne Boruch