Monday, April 19, 2010


Nightlight at noon
where I'm quartered and drawn
to eye lashes of light minute
in their welting



What will Manhattan do
with only the moon to glow over it?



I tried to explain how hurt I was
How dislocated, the pain of popping myself back in...
And in the end, could say nothing.
I was out cold. Now, here I am. I'm here.


I imagined us dancing at the War Dead ball
your widow's weeds and all; the crowd aghast
and me laughing


Ghost of a Suicide

Rust of a razor blade
Slip of a knot, or your tongue
A ham sandwich gag (oh, your throaty laugh)

They fished you out of an ocean once
rusted trident in your side
plastic rings embedded in your bloated wrists

The girl's stolen kiss was of salt, she said.
What things have slithered past you as you slept.

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