I was blind then, then a thread, then an effigy sledding toward the sun. Then a child falling unnoticed through space and into the sea, a painting of the sea. Dear Sister, your sisterho...

Beneath the writing on the wall is the writing it was designed to obscure. The two together form a third kind There is no writing

I returned a book to John Ashbery last week. It was 1” x 1” x 1”, a perfect cube. “Gee, Michael, you’ve had that book for twelve years. What took you so long?” “It was surprisingly dens...

Here, Sister, it can be said that good-by means hello, day night, far near, here where the rivers run uphill and the clouds lie still

The Logic of Contradictions A logical principle is said to be… or formal proposition because it c… nothing to the premises of the arg… governs. This leads to the logic o…

Sister, is it not time for us to learn to speak now that the infernal machines have captured the breathing word? Now that drones fill the sky

Plan of the City of O. The great… curves down toward the cathedral.… water runs out into night where th… saint still maintains his loft. He… from the lower level and pulls up…

(for Sarah when she’s older) The round and sad-eyed man puffed… he were alive. Gillyflowers to the left of the apple, purple b… and a grass-covered hill behind.

What I did not say was that within this tiny book, this 1” x 1” x 1” cube, there was but one word. It was not even an unusual word, rather one people once used all the time as a call or...

[Let a be taken as . . .] a liquid line beneath the skin and b where the blue tiles meet body and the body’s bridge a seeming road here, endless

It is the role of the lovers to se… In the palm garden at night they s… and read by the light of the book. Syllables, particles of glass, the… The two, invisible– transparent– i…

Bury me in a cocoa pod, it’s time. Bury me in a Mercedes Benz, a silver one, I’ve met my end. Bury me in a lobster shell, a carapace of red, now I’m dead.

In a digital dream or on the silver screen Invisible Sister said: Whenever sperm pours from my breas… I am forced to ask,

He says this red as dust, eyes as literal self among selves and picks the coffee up. Memory is kind, a kindness, a kind of unlistening, a grey wall even toward which you move. It ...

Now I see them sitting me before… There’s noise and laughter. Someb… mentions that hearing is silver before we move on to Table One with the random numbers. I look do…