31 May 2013
In his younger years, when he was bung-full of sap, the mere shadowing of a swallow jetting past would spook his wool- gathering gaze. But now, the blue jay’s jeering and juking and the mocking bird’s mania and the mourning dove’s rugged flute are all drummed up inside his napping. Like funneled swifts down deep chimneys.
29 May 2013
flip my pillow over baby and let me feel your shading tree cradle my brain- pan with one hand while the other one does the deed rip the bandage from my body change the damage sop up the dream so distract me with your singing that you don’t ring a tear from me grip my ankles with your let-down hair and phantom some quickening there remember feathered Hermes was fashioned in the shadows of a cripple’s dancing fire ______________________________________________________________________ Hephaestus was the Greek god of craftsmen, fire, and volcanoes. His Roman counterpart was Vulcan. In addition to making the armour of Achilles, the girdle of Aphrodite, the chariot of Helios, and the bow and arrows of Eros, he also fashioned the winged sandals (talaria) and helmet (petasos) of Hermes (Mercury). He says of himself in the Odyssey, Book VIII: “I was crippled from birth” (ἐγώ γε ἠπεδανὸς γενόμην).
25 May 2013
lowercase ::h:: a place to drape your cape folder of bodies molder of laps a place for dandling for dancing lion tamer’s prop site of chess master’s endless loop the brawler’s favorite weapon the carpenter’s teetering throne balanced on the ledge of heaven the front two angel-lathed legs dangling
22 May 2013
20 May 2013
MISTER D. is always with me. He’s there, mugging in my mirror: tonguing his teeth, spritzing every perfume. Goofing off at the market: sampling cheeses and juggling fruit. AND there he is, near my lover’s bed ― even when fevered fingers are climbing my spine ― waving that silly scythe, making some nice shadows and lights for the seeming, but very little breeze. MISTER D. is always with me.
19 May 2013
16 May 2013
14 May 2013
Plump Robin o, you swag so, when you fly each down-beating of your wings up brings a crest and then the trough ― when wings come up ― of waving sine Your flight’s a fancied garland unwound from yonder tree ― the galloping Richter's pencil ― the scallops of tremor's tinsel ― a stretch of your E KG In a dream ― I shan’t say whose ― upside down someone dreamed you flew O, winsome swimmer your lantern breast bobbing ― a constant crest ― O, Plump Robin o, how you flew
10 May 2013
Driving Around after the Reunion, with my Wife (the Former Cheerleader) Asleep in the Back Seat, Relishing my Rival’s Demise
She’s sleeping soundly I’m driving roundly all up and downly our homely townly O, there’s the store-y where we adore-y ’way-laid her ringly and out danced singly And speaking of-ly my sleeping lovely and other way-lies of ’waying laidly Since Dirk was deadly it could be saidly she was finally minely for all timely
07 May 2013
i. SHE bit me on the arm when I tried to hold her AFTER she told me and I didn’t believe her. SHE didn’t draw blood but the mark was there for days. ANGRY didn’t quite describe it – she was crazy. ii. SURE. I bit him. When I dashed away, he captured from behind – seizing my wrists – then X-ing all four of our arms across my breast. So, I bit down. Hard. Off to see Elizabeth. HOPE it leaves a mark.
05 May 2013
Plump Robin o, you swag so, when you fly each down-beating of your wings up brings a crest and then the trough ― when wings come up ― of waving sine O yes, your flight’s a fancied garland unwound from yonder tree ― stretched out but still such rolling as a string of pinned-up tinsel penciled ’cross the scene In a dream ― I shan’t say whose ― upside down someone dreamed you flew O, winsome swimmer your lantern breast bobbing ― a constant crest ― O, Plump Robin o, how you flew