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Poems

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  • Sieverts and Joules | Plate 136     Butter Lamp With Moths

    Maybe there’s a new way to be nuclear, not using rods with their troublesome impermanent cladding, their

  • In Praise of Wandering

    You ask how we do it. Simple.

  • The Night Dancers

    Praise the shadows that slither up candlelit walls

  • How Self-Consciousness Counts

    Why in hell should anyone understand

  • PRESENTIMENTS

    Such as the sun might present—out of sight—

  • Ambition

    Four in the morning,

  • Tchaikovsky’s Fifth, On Freud’s Birthday [May 5] & In Vienna

    The first movement of Tchaikovsky’s

  • Two poems by Krystyna Lenkowska translated from Polish by Cecilia Woloch

    When I was young

  • The Last Phonebooth

    The last phone booth on the planet smells

  • ON EMPATHY

    Wary of the verb  “empathize”—together with its noun “empathy” and adjective

  • I Became Friends | When I Was Fifteen | I Can Recall

    I became friends with a girl who was in the institution with me, also fifteen, also getting shock treatment, a girl who

  • The Little Engine

    He is not an engine that could. Busted up, broken and backward, call him “fucked-up,”