Poetry
Autumn 1987
General Sherman in Hell
Walking through this endlessfield of torched grass,I recall what snapped in me,that recoiling against life. A man was riding in the woodnear my grandfather’s farm.He was struck from his horseby […]
Poetry
Autumn 1987
What Winter Branches Remember
The branches rememberwhat the air saluted:an open cry,a stone grown legs,the woody causeof silence, eyesthat animated coaland dog alike,the selfhood of arrivals,all the farewells of blood,the peacefound in the quarrel […]
Poetry
Autumn 1987
Night Is the Actuality of Things
the daylight sun, but a brightshadow. We live in a terriblereversal: a nightmare’s fertilityof blue gradations. Watching for a star,I prove that I amnothing, nobody; I neverexisted at all.
Poetry
Autumn 1987
Last Spring, This Spring, Last Spring..
Lycanthropy has twelve moons,my appetite for the world, twelve times twelve.Oh to live another April, anotherand another, another . . . It was during last year’s season of mud,that the […]
Poetry
Autumn 1987
Resurrection, with Apology to George Herbert
It is enough,the slain purple of crocuses.No need to hearthe sick wood sing, stretchedsinews their music, to seecalcinated dust turned to gold. It is enough, thesered trumpets of the euphorbiablaring […]
Poetry
Winter 1985
Inventory
The sour of plums bites my stomach. Nothing I eat seems palatable. All acid this Summer of bitter greens and half-moons trembling. Some claim to have seen the demon I […]
Poetry
Winter 1985
The Fall
And when the Angel stood, barring entrance to Eden with the flaming sword of No Return—he, the first man, looked to her, the first woman. What passed between them was […]