Category: poetry

I’m not much interested in words they trick and tease black on a space that’s not quite white sullied by your gaze smeared in the act of their creation

wrong

e=mc2. wrong. m a confusion based on our incomprehension of e. c, based on time, another illusion. part of the complete impossibility of our comprehension of e. simplify. oh, and justice is always miscarried. battered, we throw ourselves at each

and when we go all the rest will know that the machine is the ghost

getting old

when can I succumb to the sadness and the pain in my petrifying muscles hard as rock, the breath now hardly penetrates no wisdom in age, only perhaps a tired reconciliation with the facts

hot

they’re all hot places now where I grew up was wet and cold, now it’s a lovely day they say, nothing between us and the sun. the vultures watch the line between earth and sky for carrion while I follow

dirty city

down the dirty mountain to the dirty city my hand touching yours your hand beneath mine it looks alright.

england from the m4

there’s some poetry in the sheep lying in the winter rape the trees dead-seeming stripped bare a dull blur under the leaden sky darkness come again before it’s gone

Mapped

This place is mapped. I know where I am. On the bus between Hollywood and Santa Monica. In the traffic on Lamar in the morning. Arriving at Mornington Crescent. Standing on the sea wall by the estuary at night in

Softly, softly. Drop into the silence, to hear the roaring babble. Let’s leave this out of it. My present condition, “somewhat impaired.” Though not much. If this is me, how then the others, stumbling from chair to chair. I am

Willamette

We’ll begin this thing at tack. The word misheard, bidet: the question was, “Why would you bring that to a hot springs?” If you’re going by the numbers, and the numbers add up, why is 2 and 2 still Sky?