Archive for the ‘ existence ’ Category

Swallowing the City Again

The train rides past cement arms, arches under bridges under cars like empty door-frames. Floating landscapes roll through stone hands as if time is tearing canvas from paint. Then empty boxes– trucks jut from one-eyed warehouses, windows broken or shaded in dirt making stained glass the way rubble makes a mosaic. The meadowlands are still [ READ MORE ]

Matterknot

These fluttering chapbook pages shriek, “Look at me, look at Trees thrust up through this hole that was broken into womanhood like a board stiff ground and grass seams snapped in half. Nothing gushes out not even blood or the grabbing hands birthing limbs. of a brother, baby son, just wood crackling, Not shocking. Wordless wind. [ READ MORE ]

Orange With A Wick

I walk past people not talking with mouths zipped around faces. Clothing not questionable– these are wagon spokes they’re wearing to walk, blue collar, bruised skin turning inky, future noose loosening, the benefits of growing up– growing down to earth. Not sure I can weather the tree fall timber storm and steel swimming up into [ READ MORE ]

States of Wear

His mind can’t speak to him wicker cage body broken in to, like a mineshaft collapsed– bird-free. The man is made of sticks, girl, blow, blow, blow smoke him holey-less. Eventually, recede into a dune of ground glass, a beach you’d drink to the bottom, if you were thirsty enough to drown yourself[ READ MORE ]

Paintings, Stacked

I don’t say anything when I speak to myself. Just stand still in between dreams–holding photos by the edges of fingers, notebook pages–crawled over by ink insects, leaving wing-prints. In dim, before spring, light lapping trees twirl up from the ground revealing themselves to be vines. Fingers reach out at a heaving sky but clouds [ READ MORE ]

Crib Death

You are dependent. An addict unfixed but still stuck, expectant. Obsessed with knowing yourself is so close to knowing. You think “As long as I have eyes, I can smile, face the world with open windows.” But beauty is not happiness– Try to see this. Think you can save yourself from high school? Tie your [ READ MORE ]

Rites of Richard Francis Burton

My wife held me. I cried, “My god I am a dead man!” The black camel outside my tent in the desert, outside my house in Trieste, finally saw me. God stood over me with forked beard and iron cane, said, “You owe for the flesh, not to mention the spirit.” He poked me in [ READ MORE ]

The Horizon and The Sun Behind It

“Ask what the disparate elements have in common: Do they stand for one another, or for the same thing?” -Stephen Burt The two halves of a wishbone are talking to each other again after moments of separation, When we were a bone did you and I know one another? I don’t seem to remember having [ READ MORE ]

Keys

Am I what I used to be? My feet — keys to the footprints beneath me. I am at least the janitor of my jewelery, strung to my bones like ghosts of ligaments overextended toward my ever-escaping bluebird — my long-forgotten soul[ READ MORE ]

Flood

original poem here Wondering what this is? Information here[ READ MORE ]

clustrmaps

Locations of visitors to this page

Subscribe!

Subscribe
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.