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Poems

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  • The Labors of Psyche

    Because I could not not-know any longer I held the lamp over him

  • The Harrow Plow

    Each spring it sank a little further down

  • Post Structuralism

    But the first idea was not to shape the clouds

  • THE BEAR IN THE WHEELCHAIR

    The bedside window is cracked a little, for fresh air presumably, and a lopsided venetian blind bangs softly in a

  • ABC Minors

    Painted in oils on wood, the entire composition

  • What Light Tastes Like

    Depends on the hour of departure and if flowers

  • Borges at Dolphin Books: New Orleans, 1982

    He props his cane between Maps & True Crime,

  • The Willows in Winter in the Boston Public Garden

    In the sun’s white

  • On Not Translating Polish Poets

    Were it not

  • THE CURVE

    Something, call it X, wanted a body

  • Turd

    Twelve inches, specific as a nail,

  • ELK | RUE MOUFFETARD |

    The man who said he could smell the girls ovulating