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Writing poetry is a state of free float

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Here the children have a custom. After the celebration of evil they take those vacant heads that shone once with such anguish and glee and throw them ...more

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A truth should exist,it should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon?

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There is the staircase,there is the sun.There is the kitchen,the plate with toast and strawberry jam,your subterfuge,your ordinary mirage.You stand re...more

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UPYou wake up filled with dread.There seems no reason for it.Morning light sifts through the window,there is birdsong,you can't get out of bed.It's so...more

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I look at him with the nostalgic affection men are said to feel for their wars, their fellow veterans. I think, I once threw things at this man. I thr...more

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I wasn't even sure I wanted a man in my life again; by that time I'd exhausted the notion that the answer to a man is another man, and I was out of br...more

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Though I knew how this failure would hurt you, I had to fold like a grey moth and let go.You could not believe I was more than your echo.

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How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.

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They were wrong about the sun.It does not go down into the underworld at night.The sun leaves merelyand the underworld emerges.It can happen at any mo...more

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from under the ground, from under the waters,they clutch at us, they clutch at us,we won’t let go.

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Where do the words gowhen we have said them?

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with shrunken fingerswe ate our oranges and bread,shivering in the parked car;though we know we had neverbeen there before,we knew we had been there b...more

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Then there's the twoof us. This wordis far too short for us, it has onlyfour letters, too sparseto fill those deep barevacuums between the starsthat p...more

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No wires tender even as nervescan transmit the impact ofour seasons, our catastropheswhile we are closed inside them