I saw a hawk while driving and thought ofyour gentle fingers. The rabbitin his talons played a foreign tune, sure that there was silence in heaven. I saw other things too from my window.There were ten knightly men going forth,a woman unfurling the jib of her sailboatthe synthesis of which was your charlatan courage. Deeper …
Like choking on your hair,strands clumped by weight and by curlinesshad the heart beating faster than ever,with hands revealing more than they meant to. & what’s next is something strange,Visions of your bones bending and becoming my bones.___________________________________ Or fear of frigid nights,a wracking cough that persists for days and days,I’m so neurotic. The Wind’s …
A Golden Shovel of Frank O’Hara’s The Critic When you pass by, Istand nearly still and cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot act, possiblybecause it is every word of yours that I hang onto, and think- ing of what you said to me, either this night or the other, is nothing less than torture. That is …
This is only about blackboard chalk,about the secret, savage things thatgo on inside washing machines.Lock the doors! Throw the brains out! The longer ladders were in the back of the store, but we steady forgot to fetch them – surprising, given the lights werealways burnt out (Oh, the breaker’s tripped). The wicker baskets sold were …
There was absolution in the morning,with pillows still slightly of youand things feeling more than just real. Nonsense buried in the pillowwas a nose unhinged,dreaming it was welded on tight. Ears plugged with Styrofoam were notthe only way, but an effective one, surely,as words came howling in otherwise. But she was the Midnight Keeper,and her …