Wise women made of reeds Rushing into water well above their knees. Women carrying children, carrying incense, carrying Scent of themselves, And the men in their sacks. Women, lionesses all, who work those bales Like thread, in and out of economies of loss. Locusts collecting where their hair begins Hovering for the color, sweat andRead more
He is at sea. she is by land. the irony of her tidepool feeding on savanna, drawing down seeds as his horizons grow dark with stars cast on slack tide oceans flat and full of mirages at sea, or at sky? sand collects at the edges (his dry kisses) where young red crabs crawl outRead more
poem 1 This savanna Poured out in the night Breathing in, breathing out, Sand and earth and dry leaves That circle before falling to their places. In this way, now, I breathe you, In and out, making your way; you circle above my mouth. Earthly things find their places again. Just as you will findRead more
Last Born Who are you, last born? What did you know, lying on your mother’s chest, A twin in the world, Separated from mother and brother? What flesh did you speak, Thin paint of meat dense as clay? And what did you orbit, Your hands passing one over another? Taking flowers in hand: The magnoliasRead more
Your black eyes burnme up to cinders, ashes,screaming on the rock. I want your hands:my skin disintegrates,ashen back to earth. Your hand on my legburns through to bone taking withit all my tears. Day covers nightlike a woman and her man; heis taken away. Your sand skin seesmy otherwise unknown: thisbody, dawn broken. Salamander mine,DeepRead more
LOVE SONG to SLEEP The whole world is asleep In the room next to mine – His little fists curled around A sweaty receiving blanket. Eyes closed so gently to the night And day alike, To my steps over the floor, And the 30-somethings’ party across the back, To military jets overhead, And the prostitutesRead more
I’ve been watching #NoDAPL, “no Dakota access pipeline,” go down this summer (2016) like a hawk. What’s horrifying is that the culminating political and personal moment in progress right now is the confluence of environmental and ethnic destruction we’ve been watching since the industrial revolution—probably before. What’s amazing and beautiful and hopeful and strong aboutRead more
Everyone loses their way sometimes. Your compass gets wacked and the lodestone is off. Your tuner hits the floor and the D string cannot harmonize for shit. For me, it’s writing. It’s always the writing. If I don’t produce my work, write my mind and the world, everything goes haywire. I literally have to write.Read more
I have seen Xu Bing’s two phoenixes at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine three times. They are huge soaring birds, suspended from the ceiling of the cathedral, and they are made of trash. Trash soaring through a holy sky. Now, I’m either old school or new age, but for me there are otherRead more
This is only a piece, of the whole. Is it curious that we call works of art “pieces”? Pieces of something larger, without which they are not complete. As though, if only seeing one work, we cannot truly see what it is or what it means? And yet, we do. We see words, meanings, worlds.Read more
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