In sun-morning-new-warmth those we call them ‘cats’, and ‘small’ and ‘with a silken grey coat and soft white chest’ but they are not—...

Do I wonder if one language undoes the poet? Do I fear that poetry slays my love? (Yes, yes.) To be unafraid of all words, at all times,...

It does seem that something holds up the sun; some something in requiem and in renascence and in religion, too, i think. It doesn’t seem...

March, I’ve heard them say, is the last dead month and the least dead month. And it wasn’t even that it was March, but that we (You and...

The hard eyes of a woman whose hair was down, who held herself taller, whose legs were longer and forever outpacing us down rooted,...

We listened and we heard in the space between us, a small garden with many new things: curving meridians and underworlds and iridescent...

Well, we must die— the reminder tacked on the fridge aired other grievances also —and we ought to ban Alcoholics Anonymous and the...

there is a frantic oblivion we dance all into a madding crowd with gaping swirling the maze of feet gropes the unknown nebulae too many...

and every year with precision this Tennessee ice slides in the coldest hardest skin, too splinters in heartache weather

I am not content to stand out (on the hollow timbered tree) and wait (while the forest burns for me) it fell I conquered no one heard no...

and I am beginning to think that I am not remarkable that I am not of note for my face at one glance is ordinary and at a second...

A live-in bitterness Who ignores the coasters And thrusts the jacket to the floor, But not in a good-natured way. She is not...

I cannot recall where I woke up this morning. I am not unused to this. It is a long-held state of affairs, and true, and even a metaphor...

Africa Box rattling, rolling dirt-dried ruckus; regardless, levitating over the impassable, renegade rear-wheel drive. And scorching...

freedom is an absurd grandiloquence scribbled by a poet of Pretense (me). freedom and all its very tall comrades slide glistening off the...

Howsoever I quit it will be magnificent. Wherefore my capitulation? I’m tired as shit and also, I don’t give any that you think my...

I once observed a man turn down a drink with a careful wave and a too-sincere “I’ve fought my way out before;” and he shall again. If it...

A street boy asked; No, told, rather, “Give me money.” How helpfully explicit. He is seven, maybe. The long pants make him act older, But...

Here-ness is a fear that we all have, Lopsided landmarks that placate the restlessness. Cross-legged now, with a deep laugh: Incessant,...

I asked myself (aloud) yesterday, with some bemusement of peace and hope and life sewn of the two and peace was determined to be the...