It’s not like you can compress the files of love to fit them in, there are eight thousand sixty twelve of them in orange steel drawers, not labeled well: you can’t, say, squeeze in rows…
Browsing Category Poetry
Negative Space
(Florence, Italy) As I approach the piazza’s open-air gallery, Bologna’s Rape of the Sabine Woman thrusts above quarried stone — Romulus’s warrior stands dominant over the crouched Sabine man, while his woman writhes from the…
lol No Lifeguard
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…
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…