-
July 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
I watch the dead from my porch the way a bored person watches TV. Some drive by in fast cars; the brief glimpse of their smiles is like walking into a dark room and opening the light....
-
June 23, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
North: after the storm, all dust hung up in the crowded air, with his human face frozen into a dot of dust and a rising speckle of dust melted into his face to avoid this cold climate of...
-
April 19, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Use with permission by Jasmine. An author, performer, poet, teacher…yes to all of those titles, but more importantly Jasmine Mans is an artist…an artist who enjoys having...
-
January 6, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
I go right through that opening, pulled by the howls. The stars shine like hooks over the flat land. In the dark a cactus touches my arm. What did I do? What have I been Before? Got up from...
-
January 5, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
1 Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun shacks, where the road loses its way to dirt and live oaks and all along the way ancient cypress, but we’d play deep in the swamp, where Collins...
-
January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
My mother one afternoon in a cowboy hat, sitting on a Texan bench of hay. Me in the same configuration of time, space, & cowboy hat. The memory in my brain like a boulder in a haystack,...
-
January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
The gew-gaws of false amber and false turquoise attract them. “Like to like nature”: these agglutinous yellows!—Ezra Pound, from “Women Before A...
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
When she was born, they said, You are small. Remember this. Feel these safety pins anchoring our strings in your palms. She said, So far, I’m just watching. When she began to walk, they...
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
When The Primordial Mother comes knocking on your door trying to convert you to her religion and you look through the peep hole but pretend you’re not home, millions of stars burn out....
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
May the child be at peace. May the child’s peace radiate to all in her grasp. May the child’s peace radiate to all whose grasp she is within. May the pedophile be at peace, and...
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
I eulogize you Sometimes Without meaning to. When I’m driving, With only the dark And the city non-stars And the ghosts on the radio To keep me warm. I swear I don’t mean...
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
0
Just now the swans are sitting on the frozen lake as if nesting. Earlier they had flown in like a fleet of jets in military formation turning when they reached the cove then opening their...
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
after An Artist [Begins Her Life’s Work] at 72. Molly Peacock, subtitle for A Paper Garden The happenstance of a few fallen petals, geranium red – heeded by the keen eye of Mrs....
-
January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Yellow, white, dirt and hyacinths poking through snow: I am not quite a year old. Two prepubescent boys bang into walls, tables, each other, anything smaller. Big sister tips her highchair....
-
January 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
You should have left the blood on, let the red ferment my Chanel like a beaujolais: new, light-bodied, and acidic. Imagine their faces! A small stem like you cupping to catch his brains as...