Poetry, you are an electric, a magic, field—like the space between a sleepwalker’s outheld ar…

‘My age, my beast!’ - Osip Mandel… 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…

The taller the monument, the more… Look, look, a graveyard has fancy… Historians agree: this is the pebb… Every billboard is theoretically a… Mouth: the word’s exit-wound.

At your light side trees shy A kneeling enters them

Even if the mountain I climbed Proved to be merely a duncecap It was only on gaining its peak That that knowledge reached me. *

Hair is heaven’s water flowing eer… Often a woman drifts off down her…

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…

“...here thy generations endeth in… I physically resemble my mother And father and therefore must have… Adopted, because on my TV screen The role-children rarely share a f…

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…

(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

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…

The only response to a child’s grave is to lie down before it and play dea…

After your death, Naomi, your hair will escape to be… a round animal, nameless.

Going to sleep, I cross my hands… They will place my hands like this… It will look as though I am flyin…

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?…