#AmericanWriters
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...
is thought to be a confession, won… torture, but which our interrogato… hate to record’all those old cod… the standard narrative of sandpape… throats, even its remorse, fall ig…
Tying the pimp in dreams to a lamp… His tuxedo wet with wheedled kisse… I wake up sucking the footprints o… In jails that glitter like crash-d… A dog appears in call letters on m…
If you are still alive when you re… close your eyes. I am under their lids, growing black.
Who whispers here is forgotten. Saliva’s emptiest fruit adorns the stones, words ripening your mouth to a spoilation
We brush the other, invisible moon… Its caves come out and carry us in…
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…
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…
At your light side trees shy A kneeling enters them
Bending over like this to get my h… Rummaging through the white trashc… Of the Patent Office I find a ki… Here in this warm-lit alley where… Even the rats too they know that n…
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…
I’m charmed yet chagrined by this… As when, after a riot, my city’s s… Boarded up, billboarded over, with… Similarly, swimmingly, I miss the… And my misunderstanding doesn’t st…
I examine my skin searching for the pore with EXIT
Going to sleep, I cross my hands… They will place my hands like this… It will look as though I am flyin…
The only response to a child’s grave is to lie down before it and play dea…