Claudie sweetens your tea with little packets of malice while you entertain on the harmonica. Bellmer the marionettist imagines you shaped by his lathe, continues to cathect. Minor poets sentence you to death. If I’d been there, baby, I’d trade my hips for your brain while the spoons rose up against the pans. Laud- enaumed […]
In your city of funiculars, of staggering turns, in your city of drawls hydraulic (yes’ms and no’ms), delusions wave handletter’d signs. In the metropolis, something is always being stolen, alarum itself is commandeered. Even you are a snatched vehicle, vamping in a mink stole, searching the necropolis for souls to galvanize. Explicit Vaudeville. You’ve lost […]
Dear Missus, In the distance, Vegas grows hydroponic from white grit. As an honorary daughter of the Black Aircraft, I’ve seen true alien skulls, hypersonic vehicles, bat crashing into squadrons, the secret flying machines Sabre & Penetrator. Dazzled by Sinatra syncopated fountains, Sammy Davis Jr. afterhours at the Sands, […]
She dances like a bomb abroad. –Emily Dickinson In the end, I wipe the letters from your temple and life spells death. You sink back to silt and mangrove. I might give you up for a nun, resuscitate my man. (I would love you but you are too like me.) For now, […]
I want to know the world by feeling how it moves, as it’s too late for crawling or learning new lines or reaching for sex. For many years I had dreams in which wings grew into my shoulders, but when I grabbed for food I starved, and when I tried to rape or make nest, […]
Must you tremble when cars trap shadows, or when the neighbor’s apricots, terribly bitter, fall on the lawn at night? Like the vine and the trellis I want to hug you from behind the way a friend surprises a friend. Awake beneath my bedspread, the stars’ crooked branches, I also need the calm of a […]
Birds graze the tassels, sparrowing actually, or mocking, their colors worth nothing unless I pin their wings in the field. Speaking of fields: the Russians say life is a walk across an open one where mules are buried, and men. The soil remembers a forest that marched right through. In time-lapse. In the filtered light […]
Can’t I make something of her bed, our sleep, and the white seam opening between us, our shared afternoons in the rendition house where nursing ended and trying-to-be-perfect began, when I was swept into forbiddance, then tucked down, her body my lean-to after an hour of knitting (in which her voice vibrated accordingly), not long […]