Snow in Hartford, CT
By Poetry Issue 120
A baby raven calls to me by the window. I’m high in the morning again.
Read MoreEvening Star
By Poetry Issue 120
I held the glass I’d only just emptied
Up to my nose: I wanted another, and another,
Quitter
By Poetry Issue 120
Of the angels I slaughtered to get here
I miss cigarettes the most.
When the Middle Game Is Over
By Poetry Issue 120
Your children drive away and the river runs dry.
Read MoreHeaven Afar
By Poetry Issue 119
God bless the man whose brow greases
the glass when he naps or despairs.
Double Visitation
By Poetry Issue 119
Once, night floated for ten or twelve seconds
on daybreak, following a sleepless night,
with Lydia, my cat of nineteen years,
in pain from renal failure, beside me….
Read MorePunishment
By Poetry Issue 119
And what of the tongue
Too long in the silky purse
Of the coveted spot, slurping up
Every pearl?
The Patron Saint of Capsaicin
By Poetry Issue 119
Every year, I surprise myself
with how bad I am at most of the things
I want to be good at: gardening
and happiness, mainly.
On Purity
By Poetry Issue 119
A friend claims that dogs are proof
of purity. Just yesterday, mine escaped
into the neighbor’s yard to eat a cache
of cat shit he had sniffed out.
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