If others call you a maniac or a fool, just let them wag their tongues.
He sits hiked up, naked to the waist, like a stone in the bedclothes.
It’s so delicate, the light. And there’s so little of it. The dark is huge.
You will be a broke blues man with only some story of how you were.
I wanted to ride this day down into night, to smooth the unreadable page.
He ended every year in this manner, writing and dreaming.
Royal baby George is tucked in the crook of his mother’s elbow.
The allure of Mardi Gras is to feel this way: unseen and unseeable.
For me, Selweh was the real magic. She was nothing like my mother.
When he had passed from view, I stumbled back from the window.
I have, in the long solitude of my body, asked for something else.
My bike, my skinny body, my pent breath was thrown to the grass.
The chocolate was old, dusty white, the way chocolate gets after many years.
However hard you try to make amends, they will still condemn you.
Death is a lack, I suppose, and love more so. But I will not falter.
I’m mourning in the armpits of a lover we once called a family friend.
We’ve seen the news. We know the story. How even our bodies hurt us.
I’m happy in the unmapped landscape inside the bottle.
My relationship with god resembled that of a prisoner and firing squad.
I was thinking sex, she was thinking sex, but neither of us made a move.
For one hundred years I followed old people to learn what I was in for.
In the morning light, I could hear Bashō hard at work.
We have harvested nothing more than the stench of middle age.
“Please, please, please,” she begged the class. “Please don’t do it.”
I tried mightily, but no longer could I ladle those ancient words into the air.
do you asks pretty sue know what I love what pretty please tell us
I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.
Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.
He doesn’t notice the cop car rolling slow-motion into the station.
I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.