Each word is a fly foregrounding the gap of its silence.
I scan for microscales something
A Longing for Those Who Lament
Every Sentient Being – after Frannie Lindsay
Every Sentient Being
after Frannie Lindsay
The carcasses have been piling up
All fall—atrophied chipmunk splayed under our kitchen island,
Crowded Silence, Shaman in the Library, Three Pounds of Flax
SHAMAN IN THE LIBRARY
Naked except for a loin cloth,
ritual scars, and streaks of red clay
he attends the staff meeting.
Bowl haircut, back straight, face impassive.
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Poses His Mother for a Portrait; Tom O’Malley, Who Should Have Taken the Pledge; My Brother and I Conduct His Antique Car Business in the Visiting Room of Maximum Security
Let the tea cup
hold your attention.
Three Poems
Linguistic Exogamy
In this dream the house is silent. My mother closes
the piano. She opens her mouth and I add in
her words, like fear, and adoration, the terrible
translation of a hygienic room. Even then
it is different from what I want to hear,
nor have I felt it. I used to call her fascist because
she would not understand. I would let sunlight
expand quiet between us. The limitations of
specialized language have given us much grief.
Five Poems
Avalanche
After the tumbling
of a wave of snow
has quieted
and you are trapped
in depth and whiteness,
you should clear a space