Poem of the Month

Indeed you miss the point, my friend. It does stand stubbornly guarding mile after mile of soft and useless dust and wind out of the north with a low whine and the lying mouth of the news— the bitch!—the words and weather both are cutting.

Change your name. Change your clothing. Change your habits and your commonplace routines. Change the routes you use to move across the city’s warp and weft and change the many tools with which you lay your hands on such conclusions as you may.

autumn rain — leaves cover the cracked sidewalk foot trap foot trap little clock’s tick tocks run on AA ...

The streets of the living are among the streets of the dead, the houses of the living among the houses of the dead – three centuries of dead packed close, stacked twelve deep. On stones, scissors mark a tailor, grapes announce abundance.

People came as they were, or as they wanted to be. They thought, I am driven. They thought, is this longing? They ...

The major verbs beset us in the midst of a static summer:

Faded, bent, and obdurate its yellowing lace deceptive the delicacy of old ladies who survive their mates

Count on it, every spring
you will find the river again.

Rocks at the edge will re-emerge
like loaves of bread salvaged from your freezer.

When the screen goes dark
and the olives and carobs
in their intricate design
vanish into the sudden night

Abandoned like an old boot, my poor heart’s one big, cold ache after last night’s break with my lover.

I prowled up and down the rows of the hospital bookstore with a fevered intensity; “fevered” because it was a hospital, “intensity” because I was perplexed by the mysteriously ruptured tendon in the middle finger of my right hand