Bullet dodged, meant your thrust. Another: Load the gun. You bit my shoulder and I thought Turn, turn and fire— those nights we barely surfaced from sleep to go at it, pulling each into the other’s half-dreamed agenda: Liftoff. Touchdown in ten yards. Umbrella, unfurling in hard rain. For two […]
I’m fluid and omnivorous, the casual kiss. I’ll knock up your oysters. I’ll eat your diamonds. I’m a mutt, no one thing at all, just the size that counts and if you’re animal small enough, come; if you’re vegetable small enough, come; if you’re mineral small enough, come. Mothers, brush me from the hands […]
after Erik Satie For an hour I forgot my fat self, my neurotic innards, my addiction to alignment. For an hour I forgot my fear of rain. For an hour I was a salamander shimmying through the kelp in search of shore, and under his fingers the notes slid loose from […]
He paid me to carry his words in my mouth— to give him the cut of sky, the color of beef. To give him please. To give him thank you. To give him tea kettle, spider, tango. I ate at his table. I moved into his basement. I made a dictionary of sighs— when to […]
We must not look for poetry in poems. —Donald Revell You must not skirt the issue wearing skirts. You must not duck the bullet using ducks. You must not face the music with your face. Headbutting, don’t use your head. Or your butt. You must not use a house to build a […]
Sandra Beasley offers some advice to young writers.
Sandra Beasley reads and talks about one of her favorite poems, “The Promise,” by Marie Howe.
Sandra Beasley talks about the genesis of her poem “The Fish.”