(1987)
Reprinted with permission of "Hellas," Vol. 8
Poets are, to most, myopic geeks, Effeminates with scarves and inch-… writing schmaltz with feathered qu… There are, it’s true, purveyors of… of teddy bears and valentines,
A Dumb Waiter in a Heavenly res… (Lou’s Cafe: Fontvielle, France) Our voices hushed, we slip into the narrow, gloomy room, a taper on the back-wall bar
The world sneers at our schools: our knowledge of geography just enough to locate Disneyland; mathematics puzzling esoteric; chemistry and physics the province…
ODE TO TESTOSTERONE… When it comes to a war or driving… I do both to some stirring ovation… In fights I’m a scuffler and my c… So I’m ready for all provocations…
I see the merit in Hemingway’s ch… the sudden casting of oneself upo… but I would like to go more slowly… from different categories: first p… then, one after another, lower bac…
Mystical Garbage Believing garbage cans are scandal… When battered, making us seem decl… My wife delivered firm commands, a… I threw away a garbage can today.
The Star See that star that now appears To glisten in the sky? It took perhaps a million years For it to reach your eye.
Kinkade Faces Reality* To coda played by lonely whippoorw… A tiny cottage dons its dusk-dark… And snuggles into undulating hills… Its chimney twisting just a curl o…
He could not paint a world that g… For his shimmered softly. His cliffs, cathedrals, seas appe… congenial things of liquid light; and even locomotives seem
He with pregnant wife, Sneaking out the back And down the broken stairs, To score some grass or crack. Threading through the alley,
“St. Chris’s statue on my dash Will surely keep me safe,” he said… But then one day he struck a pole And hit the dashboard with his hea… Oh, woe! Six-inch St. Christophe…
Florida, 2000 A.D. A panting tongue of a tiring natio… lapping a tawdry cornucopia poured like broken baubles down th… through the northern end of Southe…
Stopping By Woods on a Summer Mo… A surge of energy pervades this wo… As multitudes of insects, beasts a… Of many sizes, shapes, survival mo… Attend to all their daily tasks —…
1951: Ice-varnished streets, the s… as a young woman accordions her an… into the back of my treasured blac… She, head through glass, carmine-s… while the cops look over the two c…
A poem should be allowed to say something; good ones often have. It isn’t by necessity a fakir’s cabalistic drone
