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Poetry

1 min read

The Terror of the Beautiful Is Our Terror Too

We can’t be other than we are and we are hungry for some fruitand we are holding up a tangerine in these our terrorized handsOh look how everything is...

1 min read

I Will Know You by Your Red Carnation

The box probably full of live animals or other animals has gone missingand with it the sense of crushed sadness to which we’d so lovingly tendedand now we...

1 min read

Theme Song

Because we are mammals we illuminate glasses of milkWe make wine and play the triangle whose corners ring through us to the nightWe are mammals in the...

1 min read

Moss Does Not Love Other Moss

It isn’t dark yet though it should be dark The grass is bright you can still see it and warm and you can smell it and elsewhere two people hold one another...

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Disunion

Every day to wake up supposing so many lines at once they seem more of an air or some skinPlease give me enough darkness to hear a bell ringing and keep it...

1 min read

Hospitality

On my first day at the new job I scanned my whole body and could not find a nameI felt like a biblical error, I had to lie downEtiquette says a young widow...

1 min read

Mother

* Story contains bad language

She brings shampoo bottles home. I don’t remember if she did or not, but I swear she brought the sheets home too. I probablydecided to build a fort. Whenever...

1 min read

The Stranger on Burnside Ave.

In the shadows God is a stranger who stops me to say that car handles nicely. God glows like birth, and it's cold like we need the warmth of fire.Brisk...

1 min read

Narrating a Reunion

Wasn’t it a strange house? That swimming pool above ground?Some streamers & party horns, whistles too for the little ladies looking for balloons un pastel de...

1 min read

Diego Rivera, the Flower Carrier, 1935

He kneels under the burden of flowers, looking down, he cannot feel their beauty. The purple heft of it weighs him down. His yellow sling used to latch the...

1 min read

Excavation of a Boy

Tell me the story again how you shaped clay into a toy.All you had was dirt. Such an old thing to have.I didn’t believe you until I visited your childhood...

1 min read

The Laundromat Saint

The way mother folded my clothes. What did I learn? I still don’t know what I’m doing.My hands could never be as good. Eight years old, I’m with Mom at our...