Category: Poetry

Lurching in a wild, gesticulated dance, we whack at meaty thoraxes. Loath to let them eat the meager yield, meanly hoarded from the browning field.

A neon sneeze, fireflies mist the jack pines.

Imagine the gall not to need light at all, as if you, blindcat, were not breaking the surface of a subterranean lake, but floating in outer space.

Tomorrow a soft rain will moisten the tangled peat gone dry and hard between flood tides and low water

Remember the time I rushed into the house and woke everyone, hurrying you and the kids to the jeep? Where, Daddy? I wouldn’t say. Are you sure? you asked. Just come quickly.

But then what? Isn’t a little mystery the price we have to pay to see the magic? Yes, everything is a corrective to everything else.

Hell flickers  in the throats of fallen birds. Dust on tongues,  how long must we wait for ashes? 

But consider the nests he made. They are like words shaped by the body which inhabits them, plaited with grass and twigs, with twine, blue ribbon, with shreds of paper.