Category: Poetry

msg 2 my ghost

ghost,

im chasing u round the attic. u lead me round my attic, over chintzy 50s carpet, circumnavigating staircase well b/c u r scared 4 me—wild ghost chase? but there r many floors & rooms here & our friends r at a party in the next room…

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Ode to Daniel Pinkwater

CREATURES OF THE SWAMP

UNITE

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The son-poem continues

The son-poem continues / by these pastoral lines , / in my ears put / by father , as / words of the mouth of / the poem ‘ s / father , on a short morning / saunter / he set out on alone /

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Cold Spell

“an indecisive sea that steeps, stains / my shoes, once white, gore-aged /
too far gone.”

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The Other Woman is left in the cold

“Never dipped one toe into water, but sipped juice on a hilltop.”

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Manuscription

I worry I will run out of words to explain you to myself but you teach me in the night, across my back you trace forgotten alphabets.

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“Brecht in Southampton – Personal Pleasures”

Morning at the coffeeshop Cheating traffic, the back-roads White clouds, the pale sky Parking near water, a book Midday at the bay, the breeze Water on your feet and scallop shells My sister’s laughter—baby mischief, feeling glad Scanning the view, … Read More

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We Who Yearn for Spring

“Our trembles and tears are made bright. Dancing across / our cheeks blushing and buzzing with the blossoming weather. / Possibility is today. Happiness is now. The inhale, the exhale.

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Nostalgia Architects

“With too much text to see or read, / I imagine the storm of a thousand paper cranes.”

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Sprinkles

The construction guys are wearing neon hoodies and eating grilled cheese sandwiches, Sprinkled across the lawn like lobster buoys — “Confetti thrown from heaven,” you’d call them When I was on the boat and couldn’t sleep. If I went back … Read More

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Genetic Drift

In Arkansas, five thousand blackbirds fall on New Year’s Eve, pepper kernels crunching up pavement. The street-sweeper parks and stares.  Does not know who to call.  The corpses are cleared but they keep missing spots, like when mother paid me … Read More

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River, river, I’m broken/sinking down

It’s 4 in the morning and you’re pulling at my bedsheets again. I’d like to think I’m the boulder willing river water into a million little Vs, the shapes of teeth on parted lip, buzzing. In my memory, you appear … Read More

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