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"Poems"
Just skinny girls and boys but they hold anyway green-streaked fingers to the sky, as if even now— the tear gas coming down, sad-eyed men owned by some other man shouting orders, wrecking precisely machined clubs against ordinary necks and knees, rifles on their backs intricate and [...]
The music gets pasted on skin.
Feel the harmonica roll off
like the squabble of two brats
tasting the last cold slice of pie.
You can expect the news to arrive by mail
on a day when you anticipate nothing more
than an overdue check in payment
for the resume you completed a good two years back.
There were tits on Lawrence Welk.
Not often, it’s true, but I think I remember
Hula dancers once and those layers of leis
Swaying gently, and once upon a time the Lennon
Sisters probably wore push up bras beneath the cashmere
It’s a rushing kind, a dancing
rhythmic kiss under his skin and an
and you in pinstripes
hat tipped neatly to one side
shoes filled with delta
Poet we recently published has a new collection of poems out now.
I’ve finished stretching, after the long run,
collapsed on the kitchen floor
it’s supposed to be good for you,
but I’m waiting for results that won’t come.
That night in Prague Mozart drank too much beer and sang the song he’d written to a brassy Bedouin. Napoleon shouted from the card table “Shut that idiot up—he can’t sing a lick.” “He can’t write either, “ Suzette added. Shoving Mozart into a chair, Jean Pierre leaped on the bar with his [...]
for Sinéad O’Connor From a barren rotunda he’s the emperor of a kingdom named Contre-Femme: Il Duce bans bare knees from St Peter’s & he’s never been a match for a pagan roundel written after a woman’s freckled arms: his liturgy has it in for the pink & he blanches at the [...]
