#Americans
Finally the day dawned when a mono… world So it went looking for its stockho… But they were all owned by it they… someplace
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…
'My age, my beast!' - Osip Man… On the lips a taste of tolling we… The light drifts like dust over fa… We wear masks on our genitals You’ve heard of lighting cigarette…
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…
As much as someone could plow in o… They called an acre; As much as a person could die in o… A lifetime—
Speak like a singularity, a lack residing deep inside every lock, j… past the point keys can jab: again… make safe-ensure your door’s core… for reckless access to that pure c…
The clock is dressed in drag, I m… space instead of its own proper as… but if it wore time, would… isn’t visibility an effect of transvestism, that shield pasti…
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 ...
From the trees the leaves came dow… until we joined hands with a wand and that act enabled them somehow then to reach the ground where they scuttered round our fee…
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?…
At your light side trees shy A kneeling enters them
The bouquet Bluebeard gave his first date reblooms Railroad trains drop off the bourgeois’ pointy head God’s hand descends into a glove held steady by the police At their reunion The Ne...
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
Many decades after graduation the students sneak back onto the school-grounds at night and within the pane-lit windows catch me their teacher at the desk
I’m tired of murdering children. Once, long ago today, they wanted… now I feel Vietnam the place where rigor mortis is beginning to… I force silence down the throats o…
