Monthly Archives: May 2013

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In a fever, the brain dissolves reality, which is what we make from language, which language makes for us. Strange organ, the brain, capable of imagining its own witty, well-timed end— projecting the unseen on its personal screen the blood … Continue reading

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Genetics

for Trayvon Martin   Whisking sweet mustard into a dressing while the spring wind howls, a little hungover, I can’t help but recall the long ago night in the apartment I shared with my ex just up the street from … Continue reading

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Applause, Applause, or, I Talk with Terry Gross from the Lonely Studio in my Head

I was reading Wolf Hall at the time— Well, I love Springsteen because he’s obsessed with that vanishing point— I thought, again, I’m getting there, I’m getting there– when people asked me what I loved about it, I couldn’t tell … Continue reading

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Envy, Bitter Envy

for Joel Dias-Porter The Poem is a motherfucker and mine, at least, insists upon the logic of magic, the magic logic of a brutal hide-and-seek, a peek inside the wild miles it needs to go inside its hiding place, that squealing … Continue reading

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The Sight of a Single Cardinal

My mother believes— truly— that each December snow is a gift from her dead father, who stomps on the glass-bottomed floor of heaven, the roof of earth, to send her his frozen, flaky Christmas card. Geometrics. It is difficult to … Continue reading

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Because the Poem might be a Nuclear Warhead Barreling toward your Lover on a Smoky, Distant Sea

Michelle, who sold you those tiny diamonds bejeweling your left ring finger like a topper on a cake? Like any good mystery, this leads only to another question, which leads to the next, until we have opened the door behind … Continue reading

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Who’s Fucking Who?: A Revision

In trying to be wild, to really open up, it occurs to me that the poem in praise of the sex I once had with my ex (and it was always, all the time, sometimes four times in a day, … Continue reading

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