I pray for us as evening glides over implore the gods pray for us pray for this breathing planet the milky way dreams us into galaxy no need for heaven this is how it started: way out beyond we below the sweet of your lips dipped in promise anxieties claim us bark and skin what we...
Above the fresh ruffles of the surf Bright striped urchins flay each other with sand. They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks, And their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed Gaily digging and scattering.
And in answer to their treble interjections The sun beats lightning...
It wanes into wrechednes, þe welth of þis worlde. Robes and ritches rotes in dike, Prowde payntyng slakes into sorow, Delites and drewryse stynk sal ful sone, Þair golde and þaire tresoure drawes þam til dede. Al...
still, living like they orbit one another, my grandfather, the planet, & grandma, his moon assigned by some gravitational pull. they have loved long enough for a working man to retire. grandma says she’s not tired,
If you can taste the oak in aging love, then no betrayal overcomes the taste of smoke on the lips and fire in the throat. You drank some drug that no blood test can trace.
Love asks every thing, but will take nothing for an...
I don't love you as if you were rare earth metals, conflict diamonds, or reserves of crude oil that cause war. I love you as one loves the most vulnerable species: urgently, between the habitat and its loss.
I came to understand you, dear aperture, dear sweet sweet apple. I lean into the raven headboard and place my finger on your pucker. I tap once, twice, run a line from the delicate fruit to the testicles’ porch, and the mumble from the backhoe...
I save my love for what is close, for the dog's eyes, the depths of brown when I take a wet cloth to them to wash his face. I save my love for the smell of coffee at The Mill, the roasted near-burn of it,...
to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy...
“Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds, O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon, There is not nothing, no, no, never nothing, Like the clashed edges of two words that kill.” And so I mocked her in magnificent measure. Or was it that...
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe...