From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#rope #slang
Curling black from crematorium sta… tell me again the hoax of the soul… The cowl paces, pretends to be faceless, swinging silver and wafting saccha…
Mowing with the sickle I stop abruptly and remember crawling out the window to smoke on the roof
Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?
I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—
I saw him on the side of the road, on the side of the interstate exit… Maybe he was 18, definitely not 21… tired but not yet haggard. The moment I saw him
It occurs to me now that no one hears my song. Still young, I am discarded. I don’t anticipate being surprised at my aloneness in old age.
Trees poke from the earth like the mummified hands of the martyrs. Buried alive, they strained with last breath
Praise those who sit and wait for nothing. Who sit still and know they are owed nothing. On the mat each inhalation
A Sacred Site has a genealogy, a pedigree of constituents whose good wisdom and charitable insight are markers enough
There is a most worthy woman, the upper steward of the manor, Obermeyer of Holy Terra, house cute, smokestack simmering,
Empty Avenue Death on the the installment plan Righteous lady, insolent man, I patience expired.
The duration of a miracle is exactly one moment, after that you may as well be talking about what happened in the big game last night.
I know people see him and think, “Gee, that’s crazy.” Which makes it embarrassing to see him
Love is a svelte dagger, a gentle rapping, a triple-seven. Love is my law, makes me weep,
He wouldn’t budge to show me what’s a hard heart my own heart was closed if it was closed to him Maharajii said,