Poetry

Poetry

This Close

In the room where we lie, light stains the drawn shades yellow. We sweat and pull at each other, climb with our fingers the slippery ladders of rib. Wherever our bodies touch, the flesh comes ...

Six haiku (or “lowku”)

In a field of flowers two abandoned bicycles. ♪ Busy with words he drinks the fly in his cup. ♪ Dark night: no refuge from the banging gate. ♪ my new fix-it-yourself manual used as ...

from “To You” 

Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, ...

If I can stop one heart from breaking 

If I can stop one Heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching Or cool one Pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again ...

Kaleidoscope

I remember sex before my husband as a vague, vagrant landscape of taller, darker men, all thick hair and hands, the full lips of the rich past. And sometimes, when I’m taking a sidewalk full ...

Why They Love Us

Vanna, 1987?–1995 Dogs love us uncomplainingly because They see us in a way we never do. They don’t have sense enough to see our flaws The way we fear our lovers’ fangs and claws. Blondi ...

The Dead Deer on the Side of the Road

When I see a dead deer on the side of Rte. 17 West, its hind legs pointing up to the sky stiff as sticks, its body crumpled and still, I think of you in the ...

Clancy the Dog

— For Claire He is so ugly he is a psalm to ugliness, this extra-terrestrial, short-haired midget sea lion, snorts, farts, grunts, turns somersaults on his mistress’ bed. She calls him an imperfect Boston terrier, ...

Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine ...

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has ...

Summer in the South

The Oriole sings in the greening grove As if he were half-way waiting, The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, Timid, and hesitating. The rain comes down in a torrent sweep And the nights ...

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