poetry

abandoned poems

Sprung (April)

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

Time Travel

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

All In

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

robertson quay

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

Lobster

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

Like dirt

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

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.

close up of sun
Mercury in Retrograde

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

painting of apple and grapes
Feast Of

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.

Hollywood Hills
the remarkable thing

I am still waiting for the lion

There is an alternative universe

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

Welcome To The House of Static

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

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.

Dis Place Ment

People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.

3:17 AM as Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

woman at bar
After She Told Me You Pushed Her Down the Stairs

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

[Zoetrope with Particulates in it and a Newborn]

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

beach
On Undressing a Color / On Undressing a Girl

I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.