Martha would read the newspaper more than once;
box scores, her favorite, and cartoons that made her laugh.
Small stories with big fame: mothers lifting cars
and the obituaries of the not so named
“not all men,” “Hover | Fly” and “Comrades and Cotton Sheets”
I dig for shelter
in a homespun
endometrial layer
each new moon
like the first rain
each crimson drop
seething…
“Cavafy in Palm Springs, 2014” and “Back of the House, Palm Springs”
He rode in on horseback, his silky mustache
And I was worried for his life. Not that he couldn’t
Care for himself. He had strong legs, especially
The thighs. He was so impressionable among
The men. Christian took an instant liking
“Red Castles,” “Falling” and “Grit”
An angry goat fronts
the entrance of the trail –
an unfamiliar gatekeeper.
Payment is an exchange
of glances, a thousand
yards to nowhere.
“Social Medium,” “The Practice of Late Stage Capitalism” and “The Green Coin”
I walk paths near my home
And think about breaking language
In pieces. I think about the shards
Scattered by will and hunger
Because so much has been lost.
“Alive: The City,” “Bloody Tissue on a Subway Station Stair” and “Two Hawks”
In the summer heat, the friction of feet melts the city’s asphalt to sludge. A mammoth wave curls over Broad. Cocoons pigeons and taxis. Engulfs cardboard boxes, condos, and their inhabitants. Folds into itself.
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