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Poems

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  • Wooden Boards

    My father carefully rolls his pant leg up, places his leg between two wide boards. He tells my mother to jump hard on

  • Getting Old, Thinking of Keats

    Even though I’m old now

  • Three Ibises in the Rain

    That’s how it was early this morning--

  • The All-Overs, This is Where God Stays When He’s in Town and Mr. Jackson’s Killer

    I like words like gallimaufry, tawdry, billingsgate—braggadocio! Rodomontade.

  • Brothers

    Who eats with a jaw half-cranked with counterweight

  • Vernissage

    Survivors of a volcanic explosion, cross-

  • HOUSEKEEPING:  Frida’s Future Kiss

    After the palm reader told her no man would ever claim her,

  • “Flüchtige monde” / “fugitive moons” translated from the German by Joscha Klueppel

    mountains recall their flock of birds. the dear birds,

  • NOTES ON SILENCE

    The racket of birdsong wakes me at 4am, before first light.

  • No Heaven for the King

    Always in the faintest glow of pleasure, and always

  • Drinking, Failure and Erotics

    Easing from fixed to felt, mellow waves of breeze, the lean

  • Bedtime Story

    It wasn’t only my father who believed in the romanticism of war