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Deathexpand_moreThe moths were the things that invaded, like a bad man’s touch.
Ann Beattie in a wonderful reading of her story “Find and Replace."
Less magic, less defense, more speed, more stealth.
The jealous Othello, ready for murder, was transformed into a school-boy.
By the kitchen sink, my aunt held a fish as if holding the Holy Body.
Fishing with Dad guaranteed two days of just us and made me special.
i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.
I dug a hole in you; I jumped (here is the church, here is the steeple).
Exhausted, androgynous, delirious, I delight in my many parts.
Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.
I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.
He loves me. That’s half enough: he’s the only man around.
It is here I learn the speech of men. The speechless guilt of every swig.
I'll pick a black card of luck for you: star, pinkmoon, mirror, ostrich eye.
Even as a child, I was skeptical—testing God when He wasn’t looking.
He greets you with a kiss and marries your elbow to walk the path.
I thought about the little graveyard where the man would be laid.
he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.
When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.
After almonds after anchovies. After baguettes, a plate of cheese.
Glad to hear the garden can be worse than being awake
Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing
A plus B; a child in peril, plus love, dissolution of, equals a story.
Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?
A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.
What do you offer someone who has lost half of her beginning?
This is the stupid math of loving another human being.
I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.
You know what you’ve come looking for you probably won’t find.
How large our muscles have to be to lift our wings even a single time.
