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As if we would remember only this—the perfect dust— How we slaked it, how it cost next to nothing, twenty-five Cents American, those sweating green twenty-five-milliliter bottles, Quaffing that nutty flavor, our privileged deprivation, Loving it more, that entire year, because there was In a city of ten million no other lager. This is what…

Sometimes the mind rises only into its own sky The day gone to wind and last night’s rain Our names skipping like flat rocks Across someone else’s hopscotch Where once you scratched your Xs and Os. Or was that tic-tac-toe, tally where no one Should ever win, though you can blunder Badly, losing in the…

Nothing quite rhymes like time to kill and this long, clingstone schooling— reason traitorous, the season a bomb of decoy mimosa, birdscree, the pool under shattering low leaves, God saying now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Will I go easy, nail from a rotted board, splinter pulled from a foot surprised & bare…

What’s death? Horizon kept moving by time & denial? Hank of water hung in air where love once stood, naked among stones? His hand there. By which I mean here? Ink-steeped wolf, boar, fox bristles lineate feet, mons, breast, heart in conjuring vista: the fist itching opens. A graveyard, too, a cosmos of parts; platitude…

No one knows anymore. Or any less, for who can ever be sure about once. Or upon a time, as if time were a chair. For there was a time when time was more or less sparrow. Sparrow yes and sparrow no. Sparrow the answer answering all the questions. So. The people would put the…

can be disconcerting take it from one who’s been there hobbling on rubber legs through fifty shades of graves to end up riding down a metal tunnel that kept screeching ha! haha! ha! your body strapped to a gurney where (ha ha!) if you blinked the whole insane scenario would have to be replayed and…

You feet! I resign myself to you—I know what you —–mean, I behold in my hands your soft heel, your crooked toes I shape like couplets a cow’s hide, I make it understand —–the length of your walk, the refrain of your adventures, —–the places you will see I put bows on the pink shoes…

Modern coins the sizes of shine swept off my friend’s bureau in Ghent and pocketed by my careless habit— not brown pennies too dull to return they include designer Devlin’s sculpture of the duckbilled animal swimming up to the top swirl and five kangaroo tails mixed to a dollar. When the Irish attained their republic…

1. Doesn’t everybody get a strange life? Don’t we all get to walk around inside ourselves all day long and sleep there through the whole night? Don’t we all have permanent access to the magnum and the minimum opus, the rising up and the sinking down? Aren’t we granted the right to refrain from occupying…

IT WAS MY IDEA to volunteer as a clown, but it was my therapist who suggested that I work as a mute because I am so talkative. That way I’d have to use my face and props to communicate instead of words. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be, for I quickly got…