4/15/11

The End of Something

And it is hollows I have loved,
stroking my thumb
along curves of collapse,
the smooth stroke of lack
 

so why resist becoming
a void myself

shell sucked dry of meat,

artichoke leaf, tooth-scraped

thistle or bivalve, I


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4/5/11

Take Out

He taught me
how to be cold
and I have learned
why there were
so many empty cartons
of Haagen-Dazs ice cream
under my mother’s bed.

Bad loam

runs in streaks.
I have checked in
and checked out
and am waiting now only
to carry on.
To be told when.

To go.


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4/2/11

Style

Raymond Queneau
told one story
99 ways
as a sort of exercise

but that’s all I’m doing

over and over
rewriting the story
of us
 

and everything changes
except me clinging
to the concept of narrative
as some sort of shield


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