Category: Poetry

from a costco gas station in california

“but roots are live wires, and you never saw / that I’m more brick than concrete…”

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Missing From June

“I miss my brother’s 18th birthday. He spends it kneeling in pews and tossing crosses of stems and swallowing Christfuls of dirt. No one falls into the pit. Oh, adult. Fresh mint.”

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Abyss

“Hypnotic / In the crayon-colored blue of her womb, a / Pale body bubbles and floats.”

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Prose Poem

Editor’s Note: What follows is composed from features published in The New Yorker between September and December 2010. No alterations beyond rearrangement were made to the texts, excepting those that ensured gender, tense and number agreement.

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Reflections from the Backlog —

“There’s always summer to/think/realize/laze./There’s always summer/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the rest of our lives.”

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The Deal

The deal man.

The fucking deal.

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Thoughts on a Plane

“It was his finest, and most coveted, item.”

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Hypochondriac

“my fingernails scratch at you under /
my hide, like hives or a rash or some /
other disease.”

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Song of My Studio

“Most days I whack my shinbone on the coffee table /
When friends come over we drink whiskey and forget the rules of chess”

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Mama

“Florida, oxidized green, / obliged her on this point, rising / out of the pool into its mildew.”

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october

“I see the act of painting now, and / It is still too fast.”

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The Character in Woody Allen Films Who is Clearly Just Woody Allen Played by Someone Else

“the Universe
is Expanding!”

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