A Visit
Gone are the days When you could walk on water. When you could walk. The days are gone. Only one day remains, The one you’re in. The memory is no friend. It can only
The Landlady
This is the lair of the landlady She is A raw voice Loose in the rooms beneath me. The continuous henyard Squabble going on below Thought in this house like The bicker of blood
The City Planners
Cruising these residential Sunday Streets in dry August sunlight: What offends us is The sanities: The houses in pedantic rows, the planted Sanitary trees, assert Levelness of surface like a rebuke To the dent
You Begin
You begin this way: This is your hand, This is your eye, This is a fish, blue and flat On the paper, almost The shape of an eye This is your mouth, this is
Siren Song
This is the one song everyone Would like to learn: the song That is irresistible: The song that forces men To leap overboard in squadrons Even though they see the beached skulls The song
The Shadow Voice
My shadow said to me: What is the matter Isn’t the moon warm Enough for you Why do you need The blanket of another body Whose kiss is moss Around the picnic tables The
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing
The world is full of women Who’d tell me I should be ashamed of myself If they had the chance. Quit dancing. Get some self-respect And a day job. Right. And minimum wage, And
In The Secular Night
In the secular night you wander around Alone in your house. It’s two-thirty. Everyone has deserted you, Or this is your story; You remember it from being sixteen, When the others were out somewhere,
The Moment
The moment when, after many years Of hard work and a long voyage You stand in the centre of your room, House, half-acre, square mile, island, country, Knowing at last how you got there,
A Sad Child
You’re sad because you’re sad. It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, Or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll You need to sleep. Well, all
Flying Inside Your Own Body
Your lungs fill & spread themselves, Wings of pink blood, and your bones Empty themselves and become hollow. When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon And your heart is light too &
Variations on the Word Love
This is a word we use to plug Holes with. It’s the right size for those warm Blanks in speech, for those red heart- Shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing Like real