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Poems

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  • Remote Stars

    Look up. There’s Bill,

  • My Father Was a Honey Bee

    My father was a honey bee He buzzed and buzzed

  • Earthquake

    The voices of self are ended. A sepia

  • Three Poems

    Typos   Word instead of wood but, sodden, it smoked when it burned. I wrote god for good who was, once–– in my childhood years, crowned with the nimbus of that capital G–– but now tends to be a placeholder for nightmare, tears. Seeking solace in the pastoral, but grove came out as grave and the lymph nodes, irradiated, naked

  • Doorbell: 5:14 AM

    The policeman touches

  • Else

    At the first instance, to amuse others,

  • The Muse Writes Luis Jorge Borges A Letter On His 86th Birthday

    The night has entered your eyes

  • Two Exhausted Bodies

    My insides are a flooded field. Though the field outside is larger and I have played there, laid

  • A Flash of Lithe White Arms

    A flash of lithe white arms

  • TENEBRAE

    As grief begins taking up resi

  • The Other Hemisphere & Like California

    It shut us up, the new, dumbed us

  • Personal Life | I, Too, Arrived Here in the End | Godard

    The universe is vast and boundless