archives

Poetry

Preposition in 6/4

Scheherazade, night so longwith the story I tell myselfto help winter pass, could be five ormidnight save for the moonlow over the Navy Yardsinging its

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Wisteria, Brooklyn

“a labyrinth is not a maze, in which confusion is the aim.”¹ the path was always inevitable, never quite chosen. the unavoidable moon reveals blood

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Object Permanence

in spring we come across a peeling house and fill it with pots and pans. sometimes I make noise with a wooden spoon. you fix

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Poetry

How It Is Broken

  my hands still smelling of garlic, I leave early, walking uncertain on my own two feet I imagine birds picking at the suet somewhere

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Poetry

Ripening

(after 8-bitfiction) you sink your sensible feet in the dirt while we talk about the heat presuming the boundaries of the court are drawn there

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Poetry

Plum Island

after Andrew Wyeth‘s Squall the piping plovers hopped along the time I went birding, cold and wet dispositions fret, slickered yellow hiding behind dunes pock-marked by

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Poetry

The Glass Dog

after Giorgio de Chirico’s I Shall Be There – The Glass Dog I shall be there baring the paunch of my stomach bearing my heart

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Troika

aching feet are forgotten once I sit on a red banquette. we’ve gone to Russia by way of the MTA. my mother would tell me

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Leap Day

balmy air sneaks its way through the gaps in the cable-knit, in this finicky colony housing confused birds and the carnage of melting snow. people

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Poetry

Pantoums for 3 a.m.

(for Siv) Fall Keeping shadows at arm’s length while the streetlights still flicker is the only way I know that I understand the dark. While

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