More on: Poetry

It’s probably right here out of the ripe moon rising that a pit fell once (because it isn’t just the moon’s other side we don’t know but also its pit) and that’s what started the apricot orchards outside Varna. Down sits the black-bearded gardener, God the father with the planets in his basket, and bites…

Americans are almost conscious of this fact often we shut consciousness down like closing a shop, pulling down the iron grate like putting up the keep-out signs What I mean by somewhere else is some other continent from which we traveled by boat or jet or desperate rail or bleeding feet And what I mean…

When we are born thirst makes us cry thirst surges through our arteries when the hormones hit when we start to wither our thirst necessarily increases for the tongue of touch the dictionary of rain we remember we were once loved love kept us alive * Then every face was like the face of God…

In the Shining Book it says Moses existed before he existed at first above in the spirit world and then among us like a light * child of the Blessed Holy One who is a man of war and child of the Blessed Holy One the glamorous moon divine mother and lover, this, this—light that…

The relation of a poem to time is as follows: a narrative poem travels along a stream creating white ruffles of water behind it swimming over rocks it arrives at the ocean and dies A lyric poem unlocks a door in the stream taking a deep breath it walks through the door into a big…

By dint of going wrong all will come right.                     —proverb ° Where outside the mind is this place like mind, unmappable, this un-, this ir-, this sub-? What coffin text— honeycombs, laurel sprigs, lyres, among syllabograms—chiseled here with ouroboros and zero glyphs for eternal reading…

Little monotony, crow come to my window, why start my day with your cracked, raucous notes? You know the kind of music you profess unasked for works its way into my bones, shakes me as only thunderheads’ bleak rain unsettles me, insisting on a correspondence. I have to reach far down into my distances, my…

“I’m not the kind of heaven you thought you’d find,” the sky said, spreading itself across the floor here, in the kitchen, its gold leaf freaked and split as it appeared and disappeared and stained the morning with its radiance. —————————-“And furthermore, you’re not my idea of a prophet or a sage. But here we…

for Mary Oliver In the evening I killed a dozen flies against the glass of the window not caring for the noise they made or to see them flecking the table where we had eaten They were trying to escape had scrawled their curlicues all afternoon and could not have understood the cruelty of glass…

All night he was wind leaning on a door you wanted to open. The whole world spilled through the hole he’d torn in his side. He had nothing to say that wasn’t your name. In his teeth his own blood turned brown. You had to see him naked, name those animal scars in their torchlight…