My aunt who sat when my brother and I were just little tied our fingers to big helium balloons and called up, “Tell your mother about the mountain lions.” I remember closing my eyes. I told my mother: “My eyes hurt from the sun.” She asked what I’d been doing to so hurt. I said, […]
my dialogue with Luke was a strange one somewhat disconcerting. It was at the coffee shop where he addressed me with a cup in his hand, a book in the other, about which, he said, he regretted what he’d once written and now couldn’t take back as it’s the nature and weakness of books, as […]
not even the scientists when asked could say what that thing was that had crept on shore the day after the shipping lanes were closed it had brought bubbles and when asked one of the scientists said, no, we won’t know why they don’t pop until more data is generated when asked a scientist said […]
after the english storm everything changed puddles instead passed back memories as it used to be that in a puddle you could see the airy birds reflected or lamp posts or the edges of buildings but now in those puddles after the english storm that other me I remembered that me who’d been asked as […]
It was a day like any other they always are when suddenly my brother Daniel, his girl Melissa, and my odd neighbor Henry suddenly turned into pencil marks on the couch and the couch too and the geometric painting I’d made years ago which I swore had once been more colors than just black and […]
how many poems have there been where everything’s a specificity of edges and outsides and the sun is narrowed on the floor by the western window keeping warm how many poems have there been where the reader knows shoes take one onto the roads of the day the windows pass overhead one by one behind […]
I’m troubled sometimes by the landscapes we stumble on such as yesterday after everything had melted and where the earth once yielded land I found myself on a length of paper into which at an angle the earth had raised a thin spar or post or treetrunk wrapped around by red ribbon or the exposed […]
and here is now where they stand with their fruit plates, meats, smiles, other comforts and casseroles while behind me and behind them the world is a disheveled poem yes here is where they stand on the door I used to open the hard matter of the walls somewhere maybe in Alabama, Texas carried in […]
imagine the poem I want to write as a train into the city on which one day I open my mouth to speak and every stone has vanished and the snake I once used to dig for chipmunks in the yard has withered like an old wrung washcloth dropped onto the sand I want to […]
I can never remember the poem I want to write like what I had for lunch a week ago even though I try never to risk what I have but there’s a question what is the poem I want to write but misremember what’s the nature of it (bird, plow, tire track) why does it […]
Key: Black is read from top to bottom, Red from bottom to top Thanks to Kendra Bartell for the Canvas.
This I just couldn’t resist.
it is strange to me she said that they always look at our eyes the cat the dog how they know you have them she said even ants he said when they stop where they’re going where ever it is and you know they understand you have eyes and that’s where they find you she […]
if I eat another raisin I’ll burst as the clouds rolled in slowly to the east of Panama City electric blueberries bursting on the fringes and what we took for booms might have been house walls crumbling around the perfectly good plumbing it was silly to watch her eat raisins and say things like if […]
everywhere they built little americas because as Anne said we don’t like much else the Texan knew that to know food the eater must divide the plate into its parts. It’s hard work. On one side of the plate he piled the noodles and from this start point the plate became a world, an experiment. […]
