Sour grapes in the whirl-pool the albumen, fork a gentle cloudover the yolk, one foot on the sheet, this ghost’s getting caught. Down comes the spider! Net the jellyfish, two tendrils come off, no matter, slippery ropes on a fisherman’s deck. My bread’s in need of blessing; salt the theft. More from this Author Read More in Poetry
Deus Ex
I left you the Dear letter,anger for a signature,when I heard the way, in Mirages, you madethe actor’s body cranebeneath a fig tree; the box he neededto stand on, inexplicably missing—how you lured a guiltless audienceinto assuming silence part of the play, the terminal coilinga student of the caduceus sawtoo late to savea breathless theodicy. The same... Continue Reading →
Finding Scars
I could show youthe drunken bicycle,the child’s steak-knife,a mother’s fabric scissors,a toddler’s untrimmed nails.I could lead you where leveragetook me, or what anger did afterthe mirror & the door.But I’d rather you find the damageon your own, the dissolvedstitches proof ofwhat was done. I’ll not tell—once said, you can’t unsee. More from this Author Read... Continue Reading →