Monday, December 22, 2014

of and for Anne Waldman and Reed Bye

Like a marionette forgotten between performances

I wondered if any of the others had wooden planks for parts so fractioned and dull as brushwood that it became nearly sexual when finally their posture straightened and they hobbled the vacant stage


Sunday, July 20, 2014

Somewhere deep inside himself a frightened child creeps into the early morning warmth of its parents’ bed while
I stand out in the open again in the substratum of all light and sound inaccessible to most—I am confident that all is well that the poem does not lie to us and that I’ll never come back from the strained face of mawkish love without which there is nothing