Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,
10 lines
In Saginaw, in Saginaw,
The wind blows up your feet,
82 lines
A cloud moved close. The bulk of the wind shifted.
49 lines
What’s this? A dish for fat lips.
144 lines
Where were the greenhouses going,
Lunging into the lashing
32 lines
In purest song one plays the constant fool
As changes shimmer in the inner eye.
45 lines
One feather is a bird, I claim; one tree, a wood;
27 lines
Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes, --
16 lines, 1 comment
I study the lives on a leaf: the little
Sleepers, numb nudgers in cold dimensions,
11 lines, 2 comments
I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss? --
My lady laughs, delighting in what is.
16 lines
In the long journey out of the self,
There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places
17 lines
I
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
107 lines, 2 comments
Against the stone breakwater,
Only an ominous lapping,
46 lines, 3 comments
The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
12 lines, 2 comments
I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight,
13 lines, 2 comments
I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
23 lines, 2 comments
I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
12 lines, 1 comment
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
24 lines, 1 comment
This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
11 lines, 2 comments
All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
12 lines, 3 comments
When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
26 lines
My secrets cry aloud.
I have no need for tongue.
21 lines
What's greater, Pebble or Pond?
What can be known? The Unknown.
14 lines
In moving-slow he has no Peer.
You ask him something in his Ear,
12 lines, 1 comment
1
In a shoe box stuffed in an old nylon stocking
32 lines, 1 comment
Now as the train bears west,
Its rhythm rocks the earth,
27 lines
By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.
11 lines, 4 comments
Let others probe the mystery if they can.
Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will--
19 lines, 14 comments
The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
7 lines, 16 comments
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
30 lines, 12 comments
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