Author: admin

I never could high-kick words were my tap-shoes but I know these dancers: ecstatic routine masking terrors of keeping on spot in the line, self on the line; raw yearning, stripped, on the line those who hurt most departing stage...

(For J.D.S. — December 1978) Etched is the moment I reached for that hot-pink cleaning slip you were far too numb to see. The cortège had arrived. You were a small iron rod on cold steps, void by your side, slip stapled to...

(Irina, during the Siege) Last year I turned eighteen you know. To celebrate we boiled our cat. He was fatter than us from rats. A stew seemed right to hide what we ate. That was November, lives ago. Dawn, cold. Dusk, cold....

Yellow gaze calculating night gloom swivels past musty tracks old runs through straw the hulks of wintering harrows homes in on scrabbles takes to subzero air feathered cloud quiet as prayer what do you sense as now you settle...

(Marriage of Figaro, Act 2) Give up your song of hopeless hope stop leaning on your escritoire life bubbles in rococo ways that wink at your disconsolate sighs a quick disguise or clever clue will change the key, beguile bleak...

Truth is a story we tell ourselves, a set of beans we sell the cow for, and then walk proudly home from the deal only to be slapped by that dear old mother we call the real. “You did what? You got...

1. —I’m done with war, that’s my point. 2. You ain’t better than the guy you’re killin’. 3. Five tours, not hit once. What is that? 4. If I’d followed you guys, been middle class, I would’ve...

You know it’s just that Just that Just that You know it’s just that Just that My mind is going All the time Just that

In America, the scaffolding is always up. It’s never done, completed, this America. It’s an accident happening now, killing too many. It’s a work in progress. It’s like that bad thing you did that you always wished you could...

When you consider a pitch to end all pitches, a pitch for angels some say, for what materializes in the dusty corners of your apartment, a pitch as delicate as Shantung Silk carried across ocean in satchels underneath the ruby...

There are bare maples and one narrow dirt road slick with fresh snow. Morning light is changing, granite to ice blue. In curling chimney smoke there is no hint winter might be less harsh, or that spring will arrive here...