I remember the missionaries’ daughter Alice at Tullahasee,eating sofke, writing a Creek dictionary in her room,the stick she used to correct the wrong Mvskoke girl,teacher’s..
Last night I dreamed my mother was Carl Reiner and I was sad she died
They had nothing in commonbesides being smart New Yorky jews,Carl was a creator and my motheran other… while laughing listeninghis 2000-year-old man spinningin shiny blackness..
an ironic name to give a butterfly one gets the distinct impression deposed, have been in the bloodiest of purges in whispers we cheer them on from the shadowy sidelines eagerly..
I liked the feeling of being knifed to piecesand sent bleeding down a hilllike earth torn in torrential rainsracing through an innocent village I might..
I never wanted a homenor a Lotus Sutra I am not a lotus eater a homeis a place to hanghistory floatingin etymologicalsoundfacts a privilegethat is created..
Blue light on dark rivers, blue notes floating in veils of wind down chasms of blue canyonswhose denouement issuesinto fields of tiny bluets limning the dawn. I..
Note: This poem is best viewed on a Desktop Computer with widescreen. December:the table’s sinkingin drinkable amnesia and your eyes are nobodiesfrenzied with potential. It is 2009...
You disappear in June, leaving a dentin my breath. Your rosewood fragrance lingers while I stare at empty frames. To inhalenothing is its own religion,..
We are stardust—that meanswe carry death in our bones. Our breathblows out a galaxy long gone. Hugging a friend and her seaweed hair,kissing a stranger..
NOW, you should prepare by obtaining the following: I. For giving to a priest: 1 pound rice, ½ pound toor dal, ½ cup red chilies, ¼ cup coriander seeds ..
scab country, this; coagulatedfrom the fall, the bleed; picked apart, flickedso new underneath it won’t match can’t; scarlike bleach on jeans, like knuckle clean through glassbruise can yellow over, recolor;..
I recited Tagore to you at bedtime. Tales of flower buds and fishermen, Boat crossings on an ocean of milk. [You settle in your sleep.] Your earrings..
These daysI only read worksfrom poetsI’m intimate withnot the cigaretteafterwards kindbut morein a crowdedroom kindwhen you readthat pieceabout smokinga cigaretteafterwardslips pursedaround a narrowfilter inhalingnicotineyour bodyabsorbing..
And that’s whyI never see Don Ramon,loaded with carrots and lettuces, walking the roadon the west sideof my little home. Have you ever thoughtof whomyou’d..