If fruit could represent anything but sex I would be content to transcribe still-lifes, glad to stack sand castles from the grit of memory as Jaws trolls just offshore—which I do— but the slick-skinned, the…
Browsing Category Poetry
Our Fortieth Anniversary
(at the end of days) After our rabbit died, there was no more hot chocolate. No Tootsie Roll Pops. Only skimmed barn milk and origami cats. Alongside the Mississippi, the Yazoo still laid down a…
Recent History
—after John Ashbery The city dealt the peninsula a zoo, widening trails for joggers to get sidetracked. Clouds of arsenic stacked up at the hips of docks, sifted into furrows leaching into leeks and parsley….
Mabuse’s Afternoon
—after John Ashbery As long as the soft touch of the Pacific bellies up tufts on yonder cliffs and the Philippine plate rumbles skyward he says he’ll take the family out of familiar as boarding…
Familiar Canids
In my dog brain I am easily loved or mauled. In my dog brain I sense I’m sealed inside something metal, air temperature rising. my I-ness keeps sloughing The subject’s position : kennel, wire door,…