POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Good Driver

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

You can’t make them love you, no matter how artfully you betray yourself

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

[Zoetrope with Particulates in it and a Newborn]

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

The State School 1984 His Given Name Was Wilbur  We Called Him Magpie

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

Ode To the Dove Pt. VI (Avrom Sutzkever)

Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.

Tea

my father holds
his favorite drink

Vase

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

Several someones

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Lavandula

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

Aging Punks

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

love poem with dead leaves & color

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

I Garden at the Edge of Autumn

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

The Kotel in Jerusalem is Filled with Cracks

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

First

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

On the Night Row-Houses Across the Street Catch Fire

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

An Endeavor of Being Now

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.