what you can’t foresee can’t hurt you but for now poked in the eye / of the storm, we hover.
On a good summer day,
You can still see young girls,
On the streets of Leipzig.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Germany
What is it we wear
when there is nothing left
but rigid names for impossible
Posted in Poetry Tagged Winter
Do I miss my half,
my copy, who twinned me & twined
down my spine? Yay & nay. Sometimes.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Twins
Imagine there’s no heaven, and hell
is explained to us by the Quran
as the thing muddying our faces.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Beatles
All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years
Posted in Poetry Tagged Nature
a pile of red skin grows on the table,
like snow or eyelashes unattached
to a wish.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Cooking, Winter
The birds (of paradise) are chittering
which seems insufficient
for a poem, because it does not match
the intensity—or is it pain?—
Posted in Poetry Tagged Birds
This week I learned that every other year the Holy Ghost plants a baby seed in a married mom’s tummy. Nine months later a slit opens up underneath across the bottom and the baby slides out.
for your cadaverous jaw and thin lips, for your meticulous fingers lighting cigarette after cigarette, for your body bone sleek and for speed
Every question I ask
is answered in another life.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Seasons, Time
What does it mean to be a voice
when what I say will be said
again or rather is being said
even now by another?
Bein’ shallow is good
if you’re talkin’ about water,
and bad if you’re talkin’ about people.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Advice
Close your eyes against
that slices like
a dull knife.
Posted in Poetry Tagged Seasons
Each line of your face
a dismissed metaphor.
You the timid champion
of time with men and art.
Posted in Poetry Tagged W.H. Auden