Tag Archives: Poetry

Slightly Dirty (redux) His fragrance remained in the room when he left, and she picked up notes of Ambien and gin. He turned into a dragon and blew smoke up his own ass: in this manner he floated away on … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: Expect society to be defective.Then weep when you find that it is farmore defective than you imagined. — Ron Padgett / “How to be Perfect”

Old Residence Roe (redux) Venn diagrammer, Put-down fleshpot-bitten particulars, play me the warped Uriah bluffs. Shadow and hiss. Triumph pad, Draw me a Cossack and hatchway bursary embryos in and out on sternum ridges. Bring me the bluffs. White taboo … Continue reading →

A Lap Dissolve She’s frozen in the web of a nascent season. The season of decay at the doorstep. Summer is dead, she says, from the elevated ramp. I’m blue about the blues, she says. I’m sorry, it all sounds … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: I sharpened knivesAll night.To welcome youIn the brilliance of their blades . . . — Ladmila Lazić / “Love”

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week We were nostalgic for foolishness, because it meant wisdom might matter. We were nostalgic for fakery, because it meant realness might matter. We were nostalgic for trompe l’oeil, for fool’s gold, for crocodile tears, … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: Our bodies carry everything that has ever happened to us, the way the land carries everything of humanity. — Lidia Yuknavitch / “Unearthed”

What I’m Reading: I need solitude. I have come forth to this hill … to see the forms of the mountains on the horizon — to behold and commune with something grander than man.  — Henry David Thoreau / Journal, … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: Forests burn into their clearings. A sense of dread.It has something to do with the flags of the age.There are huge weapons, poison gases, insecticidesto injure us.Who’s holding them? — Daniela Gioseffi / “Falling Into Sand”

What I’m Reading: We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield, and patriot grave, to … Continue reading →