#Americans
The way the world is not Astonished at you It doesn’t blink a leaf When we step from the house Leads me to think
I am a modest house, a house solel… notable for the fact I lived here… Its brass plaque depicts an oxygen… in which two pupils of hydrogen da… Downstairs is where I lit fires w…
Like all children, you were a de f… Member of the Flat Earth Society… Believing nothing but what you cou… Or touch or whatever sense led act… Fruition: mudpies made summer bene…
But if they’d give us toys and twi… parents splurge on the average kid… in fact, stacks wrapped with our n… the tree: these sparkling allotmen… guaranteed a lack of—what?—family?…
I don’t dare speak too loudly, some timbres could be fatal— that string is not too strong I think: and at times I have to breathe. Or maybe I fear
At your light side trees shy A kneeling enters them
Our love has chosen its appropriat… Which when viewed in the midst of… It didn’t choose seems almost insi… The gesture our love has chosen is… We both agree not that we have any…
(Nonasyllabics) In retrospect the tragic nature of sea is a taste wept too daily, too depleted by freedom’s rupture; the eyes have other secrets to see
If a path to the Gingerbread Hous… could be established by breaking c… off its edifice and sprinkling the… so as to find what lies behind us across the featureless fairytale
at the edge of the city in the garbagedump where the trucks never stop unloading a crazy congregation stumbles from trashmound to trashheap
Note: Tomlinson is not only a distinctive poet, but a visual artist of repute. His graphics grace the covers of many of his books. This Homage attempts to imitate his verse style, or ...
Why are all the survivors of the n… nude, as if their lifethread had d… rather than sewn them. Sans coat-f… we proceed it seems only to preced… birth to burial, are not yet here.
I lay down in the empty street and… My feet against the gutter’s curb… The building above a bunch of gawk… Along its ledges urged me don’t, d…
His task to watch an hourglass was… A ritual cleansing that leaves him… Though no purification’s new enoug… To nullify the need for such labor… Prior soon to repeat, platonic clo…
We brush the other, invisible moon… Its caves come out and carry us in…