Poetry Archives Bio
April 12, 2019
10:41 AM

To the Sisters, to the Aunts

The crow in the tree
Calls the waves to the sandline,
Splits the firmament.

When the blue divides
By blue, the shore fizzes, froths,
Shows its face to me.

All roads lead outwards;
Pause as you follow along
By the bungalows.

If it be cruelest,
This month, then what of the next?
Throw some salt, then spit.

Superstition is
Nothing to the fall of leaves.
When one snatches off,

Earth shudders to life—
The swallow will show the way
If you follow it.

April 8, 2019
6:06 PM
Nomen est omen

To Sophie Grace Shields

There once was a girl
Named Sophie-Papophie-

February 19, 2019
5:22 PM
Thought outspoken is a lie...

This is my translation of an excerpt from «Silentium!» by Фёдор Тютчев [Fëdor Tiutchev].

To Jon Kertzer

How can the heart itself express,
Into another ear confess
The means by which live you or die?
Thought outspoken is a lie;
You blast the earth and vex the source
—Now silence keep—and slake your thirst.

February 12, 2019
3:40 PM

To Rod Moody-Corbett

snow makes the same sound as
     when you throw it on a pile
   same makes sane

          I lie
on a pentametric bed of nails
   the strongest syllable
  it pokes me in the ribs

                      this train
                      it goes all the way
                      to el ey

while here
with a squelchy thwack
                the paintbrush lands
        upon my canvas

    and in the corner
        everlasting grout
        zooms in on the minute
finches dream

the paint inside my hair
    makes me feel preternaturally young
 the carpet matches the drapes
 order settles over the universe               

January 29, 2019
12:53 PM
After Alexis

The light outside is power,
But the trees, they do not move.
Inside the house, dust settles
In each fine groove of the floor,
And outside the trunks, still,
Mark the passage of an hour.

January 20, 2019
11:38 AM
chantage et autres divertissements

i like the sparkles in her eyes
somewhere it snows
and everything  it has an eve

i lead a littoral existence
always on the cusp of hell
with never a reprieve

both types of creature
are a raging beast  at least
we recognize the features

between erotic sneezes
into palms  we try to holler "fire!
to come faster

to be each other's dog
we first (before we thirst
must recognize our master

her thighs is how he dies
the fishnet principle dictates
there was a man who had a plan

there was a man who turned his piss to wine
there was a man who wished to kill himself
there was a man who felt quite absolutely fine

there's a transition missing here
the embrasure of her embrace
the dedication to my mother

a pomegranate shrapnels in the eye
and one knife grants its parturition to another
someday someone will find the key to this

my notes  the screws I dropped behind the cabinet
there'll be no countdown to the moment
no revelation to be hand in fingers

rounded perfectly  we dance
without so much an inkling of a comment
she walks from hall to hall

observing the exhibits with a frown
a yellow line is painted on the ground
(you mustn't come much closer

she walks around the box of glass
her task  observing the cornered tusk
so beautiful and tangible  not changeable

not fungible  when you come home
don't take your shoes off (it is Kristallnacht
the food is on the table  if you eat

please add the herbs and half the cheese
(the highest shelf is where things freeze
and if you don't—

January 6, 2019
9:13 PM
inconvenience store

I haven't slept in a fortnight
you have memories
to look back on today

it's seven thirty
I shamble to the mirror
you're long gone

my hair has curled
because I'd ate you raw
the night before

my day proceeds in fits
(the beat is restless
'til it comes for you—

quadriga racing next to which
men on a grecian urn
dance and fuck in the arse

what can you do
they're happy
that is all

anatomy's no match for poetry
and so  i yearn to counterfill
your face with flattery  and here

our backs are asymptotes
as we lie  forgive each other
a mutual madneſs

when i feel "sad
i take much phrenological delight
in the broadest part of your proboscis

you read my poems literally
then ask for exegesis
which is when the I remains

while i depart
       trick or treat! smell my farts!
 —inscribe your own destruction in your art

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