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…

is thought to be a confession, won… torture, but which our interrogato… hate to record—all those old code… the standard narrative of sandpape… throats, even its remorse, fall ig…

If you are still alive when you re… close your eyes. I am under their lids, growing black.

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.

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

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…

Always your face like a space (Destination: beautiful) ship Empties its mote of closeup trace Down screens that blink blank blip Somewhere between countdown

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…

Note: For 'or’ to free itself from ‘word,’ it must strain ('heave’) against the 'w’ and the 'd’ that enclose it. If, via this strenuous (perhaps squeamish) process, the meaning of 'or’...

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 way the world is not Astonished at you It doesn’t blink a leaf When we step from the house Leads me to think

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...

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